


Pilgrim Soul

by Mertens



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christine-centric, Erik is Ugly, F/M, Hospitals, Marriage of Convenience, Medical Conditions, Medical Inaccuracies, Modern Era, Nurse AU, Raoul is Whiny, Swearing, Travel, What’s a Girl To Do, title from a Yeats poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 112,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26187808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertens/pseuds/Mertens
Summary: Nurse Christine Daaé faces the biggest dilemma of her life when her terminally ill patient, Erik, proposes a business arrangement between the two of them - and also proposes marriage, despite the fact that she is already engaged to another man.
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Raoul de Chagny & Christine Daaé, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Comments: 487
Kudos: 348





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The era for this story is around 1960-1980, but as it’s not a historical phic the exact year won’t really be touched on beyond air travel being normal and cell phones/computers not existing (at least in the sense of existing in this story). As far as the medical aspect, don’t expect accuracy beyond a few google searches - but, with a pinch of suspension of disbelief, I hope you’ll find this an enjoyable read.

Looking back on it, she would say that it had started as a normal day at work - though, really, the only thing normal about her work was how not-normal every day was. One never knew what was about to happen after starting a shift at the Rouen General Hospital. 

Christine Daaé took a moment to examine herself in the mirror before her shift started. She smoothed down the white apron of her uniform and adjusted the little hat that sat atop her head, her long, wavy blonde hair twisted into a neat roll. Here in the dimly lit locker room, everything was quiet. She hoped today would stay quiet. Quiet days were good. She dug in her purse a moment, pulling out a tube of lipstick that she rolled in her hand, considering. She placed it back in her purse without using it. It was a new tube, and though she’d opened it already, she hadn’t worn it yet, a good opportunity to do so had yet to arrive in the past month since she’d purchased it. 

She put her purse in her locker, and with one last deep breath, she turned away from the mirror and began her day. She stepped out into the familiar hallway, the same one she’d walked nearly every day for ten long years. 

The day went routinely enough - checking in on the patients on her floor, reading their charts, providing their medications, making small talk. 

It was a little before noon, right when she thought the day was going well, that it happened. 

“Christine,” Meg, one of the supervising nurses, sought her out with a nervous look on her face. “We, ah, we need you to do us a favor.”

“What is it?” Christine asked, mentally preparing herself. Had there been a terrible accident? Was a patient in critical condition? 

“I need you to take on a new patient, but he’s rather unruly.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “Which room?”

“Room five-oh-three.”

Christine frowned. 

“But that’s upstairs - that’s not my floor.”

Meg shrugged helplessly. 

“Sorelli has her hands full upstairs, she needs the help.”

“I thought little Jammes was in today? Isn’t she helping her?”

“She is, but, the thing about that - this patient made little Jammes cry.” 

“What?”

Meg grimaced and gestured down the hall to a younger nurse who was running towards them. 

“He’s a monster!” the girl sobbed into her hands. “I’m not going back in there! I’m not!”

“Oh, Cecile,” Christine hugged her, shooting a confused look at Meg. “Cecile, it’s okay! I’ll take that patient instead, don’t you worry about it. But can you take over one room here, for me?”

Cecile Jammes nodded against Christine’s shoulder. 

“As soon as you stop crying, dear, I’ll introduce you. There’s nothing to worry about - it’s just a girl who’s having her tonsils out tomorrow. You’ll be fine,” Christine told her and patted her back. 

Cecile was still fairly new to the hospital, and Christine always felt protective of her - both because she remembered what it was like to be so young and new in this setting, and also because she secretly feared little Cecile had too delicate a temperament to thrive in such a place. 

Once Cecile was settled in with Christine’s patient, Christine went with Meg to take a look at her latest case. 

“What did he do to her?” Christine wrinkled her nose, imagining all sorts of terrible things. 

“As best I can tell, he apparently used some sort of ventriloquism to frighten her. She was so frightened she dropped a jar of cotton balls, so there’s glass on the floor, too. He’s not terribly cooperative, I’m afraid,” Meg sighed. 

“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” Christine said slowly. 

They passed Sorelli on the hall of the fifth floor, and she leaned in close to whisper to the two of them. 

“ _He is such an asshole!_ I talked to him for two minutes and I already want to smack him,” she hissed and handed Christine a broom and dustpan. 

Meg smiled wryly and shook her head. 

“Good luck, Christine, he’s all yours!” 

Christine approached room 503 and peeked inside, knocking on the half-open door before entering. 

“Looks like we have a bit of a mess to clean up, here,” she glanced down at the shattered glass jar and pile of cotton balls on the ground. 

The patient, a very thin older man with dark but greying hair, looked down at his long, bony hands as he fidgeted with them. 

“I was merely trying to make the child laugh,” he said with a feigned innocence. “How was I to know she would scream instead?”

“Were you now?” Christine cocked an eyebrow at him as she began sweeping. 

“It’s not my fault she has no sense of humor,” he sniffed. 

She smiled in spite of herself. What a wicked man. 

And what a strange man, too - she’d nearly done a double take upon first seeing him, because what at first appeared to be just a slightly odd face was in fact a mask that covered him from the top of his forehead to the top of his upper lip and curved down around the sides of his mouth. It gave him an oddly stoic look, as his ersatz face was incapable of portraying any emotion. 

His deep, melodic voice, however, was capable of portraying plenty of emotion. She wondered if that came naturally, or if perhaps he did it on purpose to make up for his face. 

She picked up his chart from where it was hanging at the foot of his bed and took a look at it. 

“Oh! You’re missing a lot of information on here,” she frowned at the paper. 

“Oh? Is that so?” 

He sounded almost surprised, but she caught sight of him rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms. 

“We don’t even have your last name, Erik-?”

“Just Erik.”

She stared at him a long moment. 

“Well, let’s at least get your emergency contact listed,” she said at last, pulling out a pen to fill in the missing information. 

“I don’t have one,” he replied, trying to look bored. 

“No next-of-kin? No friend? Surely you have _someone_ -“

“I don’t have anyone, thank you for so thoroughly reminding me,” he snapped, looking at her for the first time since she’d entered the room, his strange yellow eyes flashing with anger as he gazed upon her. 

“I’m sorry,” she looked back down at the paper, slightly upset. She hadn’t meant to anger him like that. 

“We don’t have the date of your last doctor visit,” she added. 

“I don’t remember when it even was,” he shrugged, his anger seemingly ebbing - or perhaps he was just good at hiding it. 

“Last year?” she tried. “Two years ago?”

“Two decades ago, maybe,” he snorted. 

Her eyebrows lifted. 

“Oh. Well, what are you in for?” 

“Nothing, I’m perfectly fine.”

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t be in here,” she smiled wryly at him, and he averted his eyes once more. 

“I’m a political prisoner,” he sniffed. 

“How so?” she chuckled and began to flip through the papers on his chart. 

“Because I don’t want to be here, yet someone else is claiming I must,” he wagged a finger in the air. “Politics, plain and simple.”

“Goodness- this says you passed out on he street,” her brow furrowed as she looked up at him again. 

He looked unsettled. 

“I’d have come to again,” he said uneasily. “Some booby who was walking by couldn’t mind his own business, that’s what. I was fine.”

“Erik, passing out in the street isn’t normal,” she tutted. “That man did the right thing to bring you here.”

“But I don’t want to be here, I don’t need to be here,” he insisted. “I’ll be fine, I’m sure, I just got a little lightheaded.”

She shook her head and replaced the chart, walking to the other side of the room to adjust the blinds on the window, hoping to block some of the direct sunlight. 

“We’ll have to do a few tests to be sure, before we can let you go. We just have to make sure that you- Erik!”

“What?” he asked, the picture of innocence. 

“Did you- did you _tear out your IV_?!” she sputtered, pointing at the IV line that was currently leaking onto the floor on the other side of the bed. 

He looked down at it like he’d never seen it before. 

“Oh, that old thing?” 

“Erik, why? It’s for your own good!”

He frowned hard, his shoulders stiffening as she approached. He tried to look anywhere but at her. 

“If you passed out, you’re probably dehydrated,” she chided him gently, picking up the IV line off the floor. “You need fluid in your veins to keep your blood pressure up so that your brain gets enough oxygen and your body doesn’t have to force you to become horizontal in order for it to do so.”

She grabbed his hand and pinched the skin over his knuckles between her fingers, then let go. It took a moment for his skin to fall back into place. 

“Look at that,” she fretted. “Your skin doesn’t even bounce back - you’re very dehydrated. How much water do you even drink?”

She gave him a hard look, his bony hand still held firmly in hers, their faces mere inches apart. He looked at her with an emotion she could only classify as _terror_ , and she found it almost endearing. 

“I-I-“

He stuttered but couldn’t come up with the words. She gave him his hand back, and he shrank away from her. 

“I’m getting you a new IV, and you’re going to leave this one in,” she said firmly. 

He was quiet as she left, and when she returned. It wasn’t until she was prepping his arm for the new IV that he said anything, and when he spoke, it was such a soft murmur that at first she wasn’t certain he’d spoken at all. 

“What’s your name?”

She looked up, surprised. Had she forgotten to tell him? 

“Christine,” she said. 

“Christine,” he breathed. 

“There,” she patted his arm when she was finished. “This better stay in, now.” 

“Okay,” he agreed as though he were in a trance, but then he seemed to snap out of it and to think better of his response. “Not for very long, though, I have to be going.”

“Going where?”

“Home. I don’t want to stay here.”

She sighed. 

“We can’t let you go until we know you’re okay.”

“You don’t understand...”

His voice broke, and she felt a wave a pity for him. 

“I can’t stay here,” he continued. “I was out running errands, I never meant to be _out_ this long... I need to go home and- and _change_.”

“Change?” she tilted her head. 

His eyes flickered to the doorway, as though he were afraid of someone listening in on him. 

“Change my _mask_ ,” he explained, lowering his voice. 

“I’m sorry, Erik, I’m afraid I don’t quite understand - why do you have to change your mask?”

He flopped back onto the pillows, frustrated. 

“This is my going-out mask. It’s realistic and not as noticeable, but it’s highly uncomfortable. I have one I wear around the house, and it’s much more comfortable - but it’s at my home and I am not. Do you see my dilemma?”

“Does this one hurt you?” 

He nodded, and she could see the tears welling in his eyes. 

“Just take it off, then,” she said simply. “You don’t have to wear it here.”

“You don’t get it,” he sighed. 

Perhaps she didn’t, she realized. The man apparently wore a mask even when he was all alone in his home. 

“I’m very sorry your face is hurting you, Erik, I am. But I’d be even more sorry if we sent you off and you passed out in the street again, or you hit your head when you fell, or you rolled into the river, or something else bad happened to you because we didn’t make certain you were okay before you left. Do you understand?”

He nodded once and looked away, blinking hard. 

“I mean it when I say that you can take your mask off, though. This is a hospital, it’s okay.” 

Erik said nothing. 

“Are you having any other symptoms? Anything else we should know about?” she asked. 

He shook his head. 

“Okay then. I’ll be back in a little bit to check on you.”

She hesitantly left the room, concerned he might try to escape again, but she did have other patients to check in on. 

Nearly an hour later she was making her way back to Erik’s room. The door was closed, and when she peeked in through the little window above the doorknob, his bed looked like it was empty. The sheet was pushed back, rumpled at the foot of the bed, and the IV stand was gone. She frowned, thinking her fears had been confirmed and wondering where he could have gone, and she pushed the door open without knocking. 

But Erik was standing in front of the little sink that was attached to the same wall that the door was on, hidden from the view through the window, and he was stooped over the basin with the water running. He had found a cloth somewhere and was dabbing cold water on his unmasked face. 

He froze at her sudden appearance, then anger overtook him. He grabbed soap dispenser and hurled it at floor where it shattered and splattered. 

“ _Damn you!_ ” he screamed at her. “You prying bitch!”

She flinched only slightly at the loud noise, her eyes darting from the mess on the floor to him, giving him a vicious glare. 

“I’ll thank you to stop breaking the things in your room,” she grit out, not blinking. “I am your nurse, not your maid.”

He stared at her, dumbstruck. This was apparently not the reaction he had expected from her. He looked confused and uncertain, his eyes searching her face. 

She stooped to pick up the biggest pieces of broken ceramic from the soap dispenser. 

“And I’ll thank you not to call me that again,” she said coldly. “I wasn’t trying to pry - I didn’t even think you were in the room.” 

She dropped the pieces in the trash can in the corner then turned to look at him again. He was still rooted to where he stood, the water still running but forgotten. 

Her eyes roamed over his face, taking in all the detail, and she wondered about what accident had befallen him in his past. 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m sorry - you’re not a bitch. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.”

She gave a single nod in acknowledgment of his apology, then quickly walked over to the door when she heard footsteps running down the hall. 

“Christine!” Sorelli said, stopping just outside. “Is everything okay? I heard something break...”

_and someone scream_

“Everything is fine,” she told her, holding the door mostly closed behind her to give Erik his privacy. “But there was a little accident and the soap dispenser fell, so I’m going to need a mop, I’m afraid.”

Sorelli gave her a quizzical look but left to find the mop. 

She turned back to the room and found Erik was holding a trembling hand in front of what might be called, if one was being exceedingly generous, his nose. 

“I’ll mop it up,” he said quickly, tears in his voice. 

“You don’t have to,” she sighed. “I’ll do it.”

“Christine, how- how can you bear it?”

“Mopping?” she wrinkled her brow. 

“No,” he sniffled, and Christine thought she’d never seen a grown man cry as much as Erik did. “No, I mean- _looking_ at me. Aren’t you- disgusted?”

He looked at her pleadingly, as though her answer might crush his very soul. 

She pressed her lips together and looked over his face once more. It wasn’t particularly pleasant, but-

“I’ve seen worse,” she said dryly, a smile tugging at her lips. “Now, finish washing your face or else turn the water off.”

Erik choked back another sob and hastily wiped at his face with cloth again before turning off the water. 

He clutched his mask but didn’t put it back on, instead seeming to relish the fact that she could look at his bare face just as easily as she could the mask. She helped him avoid the soap on the floor, wheeling his IV stand around it as she helped him back into bed. He watched her wide eyes as she went about as though nothing were wrong. 

“Christine,” Sorelli called from just outside. 

Christine went to get the mop from her. 

“Are you okay?” Sorelli asked quietly. 

She nodded. 

“He’s just grumpy,” she said quietly, then glanced behind herself to make sure he couldn’t see and lowered her voice even further. “But I see what you mean.”

Sorelli grinned as Christine mouthed the word _asshole_ to her then chuckled. 

Erik watched her bring the mop in, his now masked face still managing to hold an expression that contained all the sorrow in the world. 

“I can do it,” he offered, but she shook her head. 

“No, it’s all right.” 

She made short work of cleaning up, then turned to him again. 

“Does your face still hurt?” she asked gently. 

“Not as much. It’s fine,” he said quietly, still looking wounded. 

“It’s almost lunchtime, what would you like to eat?”

He shrugged. 

“I’m not hungry. I don’t want anything.”

“Oh?” concern flickered across her face. “Have you been losing your appetite a lot lately?”

“No, it’s not new. I just don’t get hungry very often.”

She filed this information away in her mind, something to bring up with his doctor. 

“You should eat something, just to keep your strength up,” she said. “What sounds good?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You pick something.”

“Okay. I’ll bring it up in a little bit. Do you need anything else? Maybe some aspirin to help your face?”

He blinked hard, his eyes starting to water. 

“No. Thank you.”

Sorelli was waiting for her when she left Erik’s room. 

“Christine, you are a lifesaver,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you do it!”

Christine smiled. She wasn’t exactly certain how she did it either, but she did enjoy her reputation among the other nurses - they all agreed that no one could soothe crying child or get an unruly patient to comply quite like she could. Meg had called it a _curious mix of sweetness and strength_ , and she thought about those words a lot sometimes. She didn’t feel particularly strong a lot of the time, and oftentimes she didn’t feel particularly sweet, either. But it was whatever it was, and everyone knew they could count on her. 

She helped Cecile take the lunch orders for everyone on her floor and made certain they got to the kitchen before she personally took Erik’s lunch up to him herself. She left him for last not only because he apparently wasn’t hungry, but also because she wanted to linger there with him a while. Visiting hours would be happening soon, and while she knew there’d be a steady stream of family and friends for the other patients, Erik had no one at all. He was a moody bastard, but she supposed she would be, too, if she was in the hospital and no one even knew or cared that she was. 

She knocked loudly on his half closed door and waited for him to answer. 

“Come in.”

“Meatloaf and mashed potatoes,” she announced as she entered. “I hope you like it.”

She placed the tray on his bed. 

“Thank you,” he looked at the food and picked at it with his fork. 

“You’re going to eat it, aren’t you?” she raised an eyebrow as she sat in the chair next to his bed. 

He looked surprised, then took a bite. 

“Has the doctor been by to see you yet?” she asked. 

“No, not yet.”

“Hm. It has been busy today, I’m sure he’ll be in by tonight.”

“Are you-“ he glanced up at her before looking away. “You don’t mind being around me?” 

“Why would I mind?” 

He gently smashed the potatoes down into a thin layer. 

“Aren’t you frightened?” he murmured. 

“Not particularly - there isn’t a whole lot more you can throw and break in here.”

He looked up, ashamed. 

“I meant of my face,” he clarified. 

“I’m more afraid of having to mop up soap again,” she teased and wrinkled her nose. 

A hint of a smile crossed his face and he took another bite. 

“Last time I was at the doctor’s,” he began hesitantly. “I don’t remember how long ago it was, but- the nurse screamed. When she saw... She screamed. I never went back after that.”

He swallowed hard, his brow furrowing under his mask. 

“Thank you for not screaming,” he said softly. 

She said nothing, uncertain of what even to say. He was an asshole, but deep inside he was hurting and afraid. She just smiled sadly. 

“And I’m sorry for what I called you,” he continued. “You’re not a bitch. You’re an angel.”

She ducked her head, having to blink back tears of her own at the memories that brought back. Her Papa used to call her his angel, too, especially towards the end. 

“How do you like the meatloaf?” she asked, chuckling softly. 

“It’s crap,” he said around another bite. 

“I know,” she smiled wryly. 

“Is everything at this hospital crap, except for you?” he asked, looking at her with something akin to admiration. 

“I don’t know,” she tilted her head. “You haven’t tried the mashed potatoes yet.”

He laughed for the first time since she’d known him, and it made her heart feel warm. Her job wasn’t easy - it was filled with hard days and sickness and suffering and patients who sometimes called her a bitch, but it was moments like these that made it all worth it. To bring a little bit of lightness into the middle of someone’s darkness - that was why she did this job. 

“Hmm, well, the potatoes are decent, but they don’t hold a candle to you, my dear.”

She snickered. At least he was eating. 

She left when he had finished his meal, and spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening busily attending to her other patients. 

“Christine?” Meg poked her head in the room she was in. 

“Yes?” she looked up from helping her patient arrange pillows so he could sit up better. 

“We need your help again...”

Christine finished her task and went with Meg. 

“He’s refusing to get his blood drawn,” Meg rolled her eyes. 

Christine huffed. 

“Erik?” she entered his room to find him on the bed, his arms crossed, and at his bedside was another nurse who was holding a needle and glaring at him. 

Erik’s eyes lit up when Christine entered, and he straightened up. 

“You don’t want your blood taken?” she asked. 

“No,” he said innocently as he held his arm out, presenting his inner elbow to her. “I only want _you_ to take it.”

She felt embarrassed and oddly flattered, shrugging sheepishly at the other nurse who was still glaring at Erik. She handed Christine her supplies with a huff and left, offended. But Erik offered no to resistance to Christine, letting her do what she needed to. She bit her lip as she applied a bandage to his arm afterwards. 

“My shift ends at six, you know,” she told him. 

“Oh?”

“Yes. And once I’m off the clock, I like to stay that way until my next shift,” she raised an eyebrow at him, and he blinked. “So don’t make them call me up at home to come get you another pillow or to check your temperature or get you a glass of water, okay? I’ll be out with my fiancé, anyway, I won’t even hear the phone ring.”

His face fell a little, and for the first time he noticed a little diamond ring on her hand. 

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh.”

“The night nurse is coming in soon to take over for me. Promise me you’ll be nice to her? For me?”

“For you,” he swore to her, then asked hopefully- “But I’ll see you again tomorrow?”

She gave him a level look. 

“You might... I don’t work on this floor, you know.” 

“Oh. Well, how do I get transferred to your floor?”

She smirked a little. 

“I work on the pediatric floor, Erik. I treat children, mostly.”

He narrowed his eyes. 

“I can be childish,” he insisted. 

She tried to school her face into neutrality. 

“I’m well aware,” she said evenly.

She cleared her throat and straightened her apron. 

“Now you be good to the night nurse,” she instructed him. “And if you’re good, I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “Goodnight, Christine.”

“Goodnight Erik,” she smiled at him, but he didn’t return the smile and only looked at her wistfully. 

She handed the supplies and vials to the nurse who was waiting outside and went back to her floor to finish up her shift. 

Afterwards, as she was gathering her things from her locker, she listened to the chatter of some of the other girls who were also getting off at six. 

“Christine,” Sorelli said. “We’re going out tonight for dinner and drinks, do you want to come with us?” 

She shook her head and smiled. 

“I wish, but in seeing Raoul tonight. We’re going to a movie.”

“Maybe next time, then! Have fun with Raoul!”

“I always do!” she laughed and waved goodbye as she left. 

She walked out the door, leaving her workplace behind her, and letting all thoughts of Erik fade to the back of her mind.


	2. Chapter 2

A hour after she’d gotten off her shift, she met Raoul at the theater. Her hair had been let down and arranged with a rhinestone pin at the back, her clothing changed from her uniform and into the pink sweater and skirt that Raoul loved so. Around her neck, she wore the little silver locket he’d given her for the fourth anniversary of their engagement. She’d touched up the powder on her face, but hadn’t bothered with lipstick. 

She saw him standing under the neon lights of the theater marquee, waiting for her. 

“Raoul!” she greeted him with a hug. 

That boyish grin of his always made her heart flutter. 

“Are you ready?” he asked, keeping an arm around her shoulders as they walked in to the movie theater. 

“I’m always ready to have a good time with you,” she smiled. 

He led them past the ticket kiosk, and she gave him a puzzled look. 

“I got them before you got here,” he pulled two tickets out of his pocket and showed them to her. 

“Oh, you shouldn’t have...”

He only chuckled. 

The tickets already procured, they stood in front of the concessions stand. 

“Let me order for you,” he offered. 

She shook her head vehemently. 

“Come on - it’s only a couple bucks. Look, I bet you’re getting a popcorn and hot dog.”

“No! Don’t order me that!” she wiggled out of his grasp but she was smiling. 

“Why can’t I treat you?” he pleaded, but he was smiling too. 

“No! You’re going to order the wrong thing! Besides, you already bought my ticket, that’s treat enough.”

Raoul sighed and ordered his own food, paying for it. When he was done, Christine stepped up and ordered hers. 

“A small popcorn, a hot dog, and a small soda, please.”

“Christine!” Raoul reached for his wallet and tried to offer up the money. 

“No, no!” she squealed, shoving her own money at the teen who worked behind the counter. “My food, my money!”

The teen, looking completely bored and very over the little display they were putting on, took Christine’s money, much to Raoul’s disappointment. 

They took their food into the theater, sitting towards the front. It was a musical film, and they’d both been looking forward to it ever since hearing about it. She sat in rapt awe as she watched it, feeling like she was a girl of fifteen once more and that world was laid out before her at her feet, that any dream could come true if she wished hard enough. 

She wished that was her up there in the film, the beautiful leading lady. She wished she hadn’t had to give up singing. 

The movie ended, but her foolish daydreams lingered despite reality creeping in and eating away at the corners. 

“Oh, that was wonderful,” she sighed as they stepped out into the night. 

“Wasn’t it?” Raoul agreed. 

He walked her to the door of her apartment, looking at her hopefully as she unlocked it. 

“Would you like to come in?” she asked quietly, her smile deceptively demure. 

He nodded. 

“How was work?” she asked him once they were inside. 

He told her about his coworkers’ various antics, which she laughed along to as she watered her potted houseplants and ficus tree. He asked her how day at work was, and she told him as she came and sat next to him on the couch. She mentioned that a new patient had made little Jammes cry, but left out any other details of Erik. 

When she was done wrapping up her short recount of her day, she noticed that he had that familiar gleam in his eye. She knew what he wanted. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and she placed a hand on his chest before slightly leaning in towards him. He took it as acceptance, and kissed her. She kissed him back, and he wasted no time in eagerly deepening it. 

Christine loved Raoul. Of this, she was certain. She loved how he made her laugh, and loved how supportive he was to her. Spending time with him was often the highlight of her day. He was her oldest friend. And yet... 

While she loved Raoul very much, she didn’t particularly love how _moist_ and _eager_ his mouth often was. 

After throughly plundering her mouth, his kisses moved to her jaw and neck. 

Raoul moaned and sighed against her skin, his hands massaging and roaming her back. 

She kept her hands politely on his shoulders, giving them a squeeze every now and then. 

“Oh, Christine!” he whimpered. 

She let her eyes slide shut as he continued his caresses. Every so often she added a little moan of her own to the mix, just so he wouldn’t be put off by her silence. But she felt too embarrassed to attempt anything even close to the noises he was making. Still, she couldn’t let him know that all this did next to nothing for her... and anyway, this was for him, in her mind. He, at least, enjoyed it. 

“Mm!” she petted his back as he pressed himself even closer. 

Her brow furrowed as she thought about what she needed from the grocery store. Dish soap, she knew. More liners for the trash can, too. And how many oranges did she have left? 

Raoul switched sides, now kissing the left side of her neck. She tried to surreptitiously use the back of her hand to wipe off the lingering saliva he’d left on her right side. 

“I love you so much, Christine,” he murmured between kisses. 

“I love you too, Raoul,” she said, and looked at her watch - there was a special program on the television tonight that she had wanted to watch, and she hoped she wouldn’t miss it. 

His hand wandered to the front of her, across her waist and then strayed dangerously close to her breast. But before she could say anything, it moved downwards towards her thigh. Thigh was a decided improvement over breast - she’d rather his hand be there than _there_ , so she let it be. It wasn’t until said hand tried to go under her skirt that she pushed him off of her. 

“Raoul!” she squealed, slapping at his questing hand. “Not until we’re married!”

He wrenched himself away from her, putting space between them. He let out a long exhale, running his fingers through his sandy brown hair. 

“I’m sorry, Lotte,” he breathed, frowning. “I got too caught up in it.”

She rearranged her skirt and straightened her sweater, clearing her throat. 

“Do you want to go to that new breakfast place some morning this week? Before work?” he panted, trying to catch his breath. 

“That sounds good!” she nodded. “But we can do it the next week, instead?”

“Sure, that’s fine.”

“I had a great time tonight, Raoul. Thank you for taking care of my ticket.”

“Of course, Lotte,” he smiled kindly at her as they stood and she walked him to the door. “I’ll always take care of you.”

She ducked her head and smiled. 

“You’re too sweet,” she teased. 

“I’ll see you soon, okay? And I’ll call you before that, too.”

“Absolutely. Goodnight, Raoul. I love you.”

“Love you, Lotte,” he hugged her before leaving. 

She did love Raoul, she knew she did. She just didn’t understand why she felt a sinking sensation every time she thought about how one day she wouldn’t be able to slap his hand away anymore. 

She tried not to think about it. On the whole, her evening with him had been wonderful, as they almost always were. 

She was still thinking about the musical the next day when she went in to work. She had a little smile on her face, and she couldn’t help but hum along to the songs still playing her head. 

She went to check on Erik first, knocking softly on his door before entering. He looked to be asleep as he lay in his bed, his back to her. She picked up his chart and flipped through it for any updates, replacing it and tidying a few things on his bedside table. 

“You have a beautiful voice,” Erik said, rolling over to look at her. 

She blushed. She hadn’t realized she’d still been humming. Apparently he had been awake and had heard her. 

“Thank you,” she said, feeling slightly shy. “But I was only humming.”

“But you have potential.”

She shrugged. 

“I _had_ potential. I haven’t sang in years.”

“Why not?” he sat up, interested. 

She lingered, sitting down in the chair next to him. 

“I had to stop,” she said simply. “I had to get a real job... I had to grow up.”

She smiled, but he could still see a hint of sadness on her face. 

“That’s terrible,” he murmured. “A voice like yours should be nurtured.”

She chuckled. 

“You haven’t even heard my real voice.”

“May I?” he looked hopeful. 

“Oh, not _here_ ,” she glanced about. “I wouldn’t sing in here. Outside, maybe.”

“Well, let’s go outside, then,” Erik made to get up. 

“Erik!” she laughed. “Not right now! My shift just started! How about at lunch time? We can go out in the garden.”

He coughed a little. 

“I look forward to it.”

“Have you had that cough long?”

He shook his head. 

“That is my usual morning cough, my dear.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Do you need anything else before then?”

“I shall get by somehow until lunch,” he sighed as he leaned back. 

She found she was eager for her lunch break, too. She hadn’t had a chance to sing for anyone in so long. 

As soon as the clock struck the start of her break, she grabbed a spare wheelchair and took it to Erik’s room. He gave a despairing look at it as she wheeled it in. 

“Christine,” he whined. “I am capable of walking.”

“Hospital policy,” she shrugged a little. 

He grumbled but complied, and she wheeled him out to the little courtyard in the middle of the hospital grounds, a garden with trees and flowers and a small fountain that bubbles and foamed. 

“Doesn’t that fresh air feel good?” she asked once they were outside. 

He glanced up at her, not answering. She never knew a mere look could seem so sarcastic. 

She parked the wheelchair in the shade of a tree, sitting on a bench next to it. Out here in the sunlight, he looked a little more frail somehow, a little more sickly as he sat there in his pale green hospital gown and tan bathrobe. She wondered if his mask was still hurting him, and thought how sad it was that he didn’t even know anyone who could go to his house and get him his house-mask so he could feel more comfortable. But out in the sunlight his eyes looked less yellow and more a deep amber, and she thought that was nice. His hair looked like it had only been brushed with his fingers, if that. Unlike the first day he’d come to the hospital, it was no longer smoothed back, and she could tell now that it held a slight wave to it. 

She cleared her throat and began to sing. Halfway through the song - one of her favorite repertoire pieces, _un bel dì, vedremo_ \- she closed her eyes, lost in the feeling of singing once more. When was the last time she’d sung like this? She couldn’t even remember. 

When she finished the song and opened her eyes, Erik was staring at her with a strange mix of emotions visible in his eyes, one of which looked too close to _adoration_ for her comfort. She blushed and looked away, her hands fidgeting with each other. 

“I used to like singing that one a lot,” she said bashfully. “It’s cliche, I know, but I still loved it.”

“It’s _beautiful_ \- Christine- I can’t,” he shook his head. “You didn’t even warm up, and yet-“

“Oh, you’re just trying to flatter me,” she laughed, but deep down she hoped he was being serious. “I’m rusty. Anything sounds good to those who are... less musically inclined.”

A look came across his face as though he’d just heard the most amusing thing in the world. 

“ _Less_...?” he snickered. “I, ah, I used to sing too, you know... I happen to know a thing or two about music, you might say.”

“Is that so?” she teased. 

She was no stranger to the male ego - men liked to pretend they were experts in everything, and luckily for them, she liked to indulge them. There were occasions, however, that she enjoyed teasing them as well. 

“Sing for me?” she asked innocently, lowering her eyelashes. 

A look of regret passed over him and he placed his hand over his chest. 

“I’m- I’m a little short on breath today, I’m afraid.”

The humor drained from her. 

“Oh?” she glanced over him, as though if she just looked hard enough she could find - and cure - what ailed him. “How long has that been happening?”

He shrugged. 

“It comes and goes.”

“Erik,” she said quietly, wishing now that she hadn’t teased him. “Are you really? Or do you just not want to sing? I don’t mind, I’m sorry. Are you not feeling okay?”

He looked away. 

“No,” he murmured. “I really do feel that way.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I just want to get out of here. And I figured... Well, bringing up every little ache and pain and annoyance is only going to keep me here longer, isn’t it?”

Christine bit her lip. Poor Erik. 

“The quickest way out is to be honest,” she said softly. “Can you be honest with me?”

He nodded slowly. 

She placed an appreciative hand on his shoulder for a moment. 

“Are you ready to go back in?”

“Definitely,” he sighed. “I’ve had enough sun for the entire week.”

She chuckled. 

“The sun gives you vitamins.”

“The sun gives you sunburn,” he countered. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re impossible?”

“Often.”

They returned inside in a comfortable silence. 

“Christine,” he asked presently. “Why didn’t you keep singing when you were younger? You’re very talented.”

She was quiet a long moment. 

“I had to stop when Papa’s illness got worse,” she admitted. “I had just started at the university to train to be a professional, but- when he got very sick, he had to stay in the hospital for an extended period of time, and the money for singing ran out. The money for everything ran out, really.”

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. 

“I was just nineteen, and I already felt stuck - I needed to train my voice if I was ever going to make money singing, but I couldn’t afford to train. So I just... stopped. I had no choice. I was already spending so much time at the hospital because of Papa, and I already had to know enough to take care of him - with the guidance of a few nurses here, I applied to a medical program and got a scholarship. By the time I graduated, Papa had passed, but I had a steady job here. It’s not singing, but it pays the bills.”

“Do you miss it?”

She faltered. 

_With all my heart._

“Of course. But I try not to think about it. I have a home, and food, and security - I’m quite lucky. It could be worse.”

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully. 

“Oh, don’t feel sorry for me,” she told him. “I’m quite happy, really. I miss singing, but I have plenty to keep me busy. I garden and go out with my friends, and I have my fiancé.”

“Ah, hm, yes, the _boy_ ,” Erik muttered under his breath. 

She laughed a little. 

“He and I had the most wonderful night last night.”

Erik blanched a little under his mask, but she didn’t notice. 

“Is that so?” 

“He’s such a dear,” she said softly. “He was always there for me during everything with Papa, and everything after... I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Erik sighed, and suddenly she felt self conscious. Here she was going on about her dear fiancé while this man didn’t have a single friend in the world. 

“How did you get on with the night nurse?” she asked suddenly, trying to change the subject. 

“Ah... The night nurse...” Erik shifted uncomfortably. 

“You didn’t cause too much trouble for her, did you?”

He was silent. 

“Erik... What did you do to her?”

“Nothing _permanent_ ,” he said. “Nothing you need to worry yourself over, Christine.”

“Oh- what did you do?!”

“That is between me and Carlotta.”

“You are a _fiend_ ,” she laughed. 

“And she is a _toad_ , don’t try to deny it,” he sniffed. 

“She’s not a-“ 

Christine held her tongue. She didn’t want to badmouth her coworker, but she also couldn’t deny that she was exceedingly glad that she and Carlotta worked different shifts. 

“You’re terrible,” she said instead, and he chuckled. 

She didn’t know what it was about him that made her feel so comfortable around him. She didn’t talk about her past very often, many of the memories still too painful, but she had opened up to him so easily. He was surprisingly easy to get along with, when he decided to be nice, and he was more than nice to her. 

She found herself coming to spend time with him more and more often, on her lunch breaks and especially after her floor became more quiet in the following days. She told herself it was because he was lonely, but the truth was that she enjoyed spending time with him, and he seemed over-the moon delighted to be around her. 

She only wished that his test results could be deciphered faster. 

It was on the fourth day, when they were chatting in his room on her lunch break, that he tried to stand up and unexpectedly fell. She rushed to catch him, and though he didn’t injure himself, he was rattled by the event. They’d both thought he was doing much better than he suddenly appeared to be. 

Unbeknownst to him, she spoke with his doctor shortly after it happened, and then she came back to his room and drew more blood with a rueful smile. 

“Did the first batch get lost or something?” he joked, but she didn’t tell him why more tests were being ordered. 

“Do your legs ever cramp up? Or your ankles swell?” was all she asked. 

Although she’d played it off, he had the suspicion that something wasn’t right. He questioned her over it the next day. 

“Christine... Am I very sick? When do you think I can go home?”

She tilted her head as she looked at him, considering. 

“I think you’ve taken very poor care of yourself for a very long time,” she told him gently. “And it might take a while to get you up and running again.”

He accepted that with as much grace as he could. 

“What a bunch of bullshit,” he muttered, rubbing at the mask. “I’m still alive, aren’t I? I couldn’t have been treating myself _that_ badly.”

Any other nurse would have gotten offended, but she knew better. 

Still, she waved the results in his face when finally came back. 

“I’ve never seen electrolytes so out of balance, Erik!” she fretted. “And your vitamin levels! How are you even still alive? You’re severely deficient in _everything_! Have you been living in a sewer all this time?”

Any other patient would have been offended, but he just swallowed hard around the lump in his throat as he looked up at her with love and relished in the feeling of being worried over. 

She began bringing him a rather large cup full of various vitamins with each meal, and though he moaned and fussed about having to take them, he dutifully took each one. 

Neither one mentioned the other results of both blood panels, the worrying trends reflected in both. They could both see them, but neither one wanted to talk about what they might mean. 

They wanted to talk about other things. Music was a frequent topic for them, and to her surprise he really did know what he was talking about. She’d often bring him out to the garden with her on her lunch break and sing for him, something they both enjoyed immensely. Erik wasn’t terribly versed in pop culture, and though both liked to read, they seemed to hold opposite tastes in the books they chose. Still, even their disagreements were entertaining, and she began to look forward to caring for him almost as much as she looked forward to her time with Raoul. 

Much like how she only got to see Erik every so often and for short times during her day, her time with Raoul was also limited. He had taken on extra hours at the office, a temporary situation to pitch in for a coworker who was on vacation. Raoul was hoping that his eagerness would be noticed by the boss, and that perhaps a raise would be in order. Christine fully supported this idea, though of course she missed seeing him as much as she used to. But she had Erik to eat with on her lunch breaks now, and it wouldn’t be long until Raoul’s schedule was back to normal. 

Her breakfasts usually consisted of buttered toast with jam or a hard boiled egg and a bagel, preferring to sleep in a little later rather than prepare a special breakfast. Today, however, was her breakfast date with Raoul, so she had to get up extra early to meet him on time. 

He was more than worth it. 

They discussed their time spent at work and the shenanigans their coworkers were up to. Raoul told her about how his boss had been pleased with him for finding and fixing a mistake on some important paperwork, and Christine told him about her patients, mentioning Erik in passing, and then talked about the recent gossip between nurses. 

She reveled in being in his presence. He felt warm and comforting, like a favorite sweater on a cold day. He helped to take her mind off her worries, and she was having more and more of those these days. They laughed and giggled and sighed, and everything about the breakfast was perfect - until he brought it up. 

“Christine,” he started. “When are we going to get married?”

She set her fork down, pressing her lips together. To her, that was like asking when she wanted to jump off a cliff. 

“You know I want to wait,” she said quietly. 

“We’ve been waiting _five years_ ,” he reminded her. 

“I just don’t think we’re in a good financial spot right now.”

“We don’t have to buy a house right away,” Raoul said uneasily. “You can stay in my apartment.”

“Why wouldn’t we stay in my apartment?” she looked up at him, smiling wryly. 

He crinkled his nose. 

“Yours is tiny.”

“So is yours,” she reminded him. 

“Come on, Christine-“

“You know I want both of us to save up more before we combine everything.”

“But I want to be with you,” he whined. 

She raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re with me right now.”

His expression turned sullen. 

“Not what I meant,” he muttered. 

She tried to ignore that. She knew his feelings on that very well. 

“You’re letting something else do your thinking right now,” she said dryly. “Instead of your brain. But trust me - you know my reasons, and they haven’t changed. We’re doing good right now. We’re on the right track. Let’s not derail that by rushing everything, okay?”

Raoul muttered under his breath for a while, poking at his omelette with his fork. At last he seemed to come around. 

“Christine... If we aren’t getting married for a while... Can we at least...?”

She looked at him, dismayed. 

“You know I’m not comfortable with that, Raoul. I thought you agreed to stop asking me that,” she tried to keep the tremble from her voice. 

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. 

“I _know_ , it’s just-“

“Just- more important than trying to respect my feelings?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that-“

“You didn’t have to.”

She hated when he asked her things like that. She felt terrible for turning him down, like she was too old-fashioned for him, like he was merely tolerating the time before he got what he wanted. But what about what she wanted? Shouldn’t she be able to wait until she was ready? Shouldn’t he love her enough to respect that? 

A little voice of doubt creeped into her mind. 

Shouldn’t she love him enough to make sacrifices? 

She tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. Was she wrong? Should she let him-? But she had far more to lose than him in that scenario. A tiny fear lingered - what if that was all he really wanted from her? What if he left, after he got it? 

But no- he cared for her for more than that. She knew that. She knew five years was a long time to wait, but _still_. If everything else worked out, she knew she could manage her feelings about his affections - _after_ they were married. She had bigger concerns that made her want to put the wedding off. 

“Raoul, I love you. I do. When we’re married, I will be everything a wife is supposed to be. I don’t want to fight, okay? We had such a lovely time the other night. But I want to wait, and I’m not changing mind.”

He reached his hand out and placed it over hers on the table. 

“You’re worth waiting for, Christine,” he said honestly. 

“Thank you.” 

“I won’t ask you about that again, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know that it’s- it’s different for you. But I appreciate your patience.” 

“I don’t mean to bring it up inadvertently, but - when do you think you we’ll get married?”

She chewed at her lip, thinking hard. 

“When we have enough to buy the house and still have a year’s worth of utilities and other expenses covered,” she said at last. 

Raoul looked like he deflated. 

“Seriously? That’ll be _forever_.”

“No, not forever - Raoul, we’re more than halfway there. Just a little longer, okay?”

“I wish I could just win the lottery or something. Then we wouldn’t have to wait. We could get married in a month!”

“Hm.”

“You know... I was thinking of buying a few tickets... The jackpot is up pretty high, and even if I don’t win the whole thing I might still win someth-“

“Raoul!” she looked horrified. “No, no gambling! I am _begging_ you, you’re going to end up like your brother!”

“He just didn’t know when stop,” he defended him. “I’ll know when to stop!”

“He’s so deeply in debt that he’ll never be able to pay it off,” she felt tears spring to her eyes. “Please, the time to stop is before you even begin! I will not see you end up like that! I refuse to see that happen to you!”

_I refuse to end up like that_ , but she didn’t say it out loud. 

“It’s just a few lottery tickets, Christine,” he sounded agitated. “It’s not a big deal, if I just got a few...”

She looked at him miserably. 

“Raoul,” she whispered, leaning in close and licking her lips. “Don’t buy any, please- I’ll- I’ll do something you like, if you don’t. That’s how serious I am, please. I won’t do _everything_ , but we can do _something_ , if you just don’t-“

He pulled his hands away from her, looking ashamed and sick. 

“I already bought them,” he muttered. “I’ve been buying them every week for the last month.”

Christine sat back, shocked, and covered her mouth with hand. 

“It wasn’t that much, Christine,” he insisted, but still looked guilty. “It couldn’t have cost more than fifty-“

“Fifty?” she choked out. “Raoul, that’s enough to pay for a month’s worth of electricity.”

“I won’t do it again,” he swore. 

“Oh Raoul,” she sighed. 

“Let’s- let’s talk about something else,” he fidgeted. 

She nodded, looking away from him. 

“We had two appendicitis cases this week,” she said suddenly, the first thing that came to her mind. 

“Oh?”

He tried valiantly to pretend that this was interesting breakfast discussion. 

“Mmhm. They’ve both recovered though, the last one is going home today. His parents bought him a puppy as a present, I thought that was really sweet.”

“We could get a puppy,” he offered, his face brightening. “Afterwards.”

“Puppies cost money,” she took a sip of her coffee. 

“Oh.”

Their stilted small talk ensured throughout the meal, and they parted ways afterwards with a hug as they usually did. It was just a little spat, she knew that, nothing worse than they’d had before and come out just fine on the other end of. 

And yet-

She couldn’t help but picture him buying those lottery tickets that she hated so much, those same tickets Papa had spent so much money on over the years, money he could have used to pay his medical bills instead of having to use her college fund, those very same tickets that Raoul’s own brother used to dig a hole so deep for himself that he’d never find a way out. She had worked too hard and too long to fall into a hole like that... Or to let Raoul pull her into one. 

But she trusted him. He’d said he’d stop, and surely he would. He wouldn’t lie to her. He loved her. 

But it still bothered her. 

So much so that even Erik noticed. 

“Christine, is something wrong? You don’t seem like your usual self, my dear,” he said in a voice so tender that she almost wanted to cry. 

She sighed. He was her patient. It wasn’t his job to listen to her personal life, and it certainly wasn’t her place to unload her private issues onto him. She should be professional with him. 

But as she looked at him, she didn’t see just another patient - she saw Erik, her friend. Sometimes she debated it to herself if that was right or wrong, but regardless of which it was, it was also true. There was something about him that made her trust him with her whole soul, something that made her want to talk to him about anything and everything. 

She shook her head, trying to keep that separation between work and personal life. 

“I’m fine, Erik.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. 

“No, you’re hiding something,” he insisted. “You’re upset.”

“No!” 

He shifted uneasily. 

“Are you upset at me?” he asked in a whisper. 

“Oh, no, of course not,” she chewed in her lip, thinking. He’d worn down her defenses. 

“It’s just Raoul, my fiancé,” was all she said with a shrug. 

His eyes took on a distant look. 

“Ah. Yes, _the boy_ ,” he muttered. “What has he done to you?”

“He hasn’t done anything.”

“He’s upset you, yes?”

“Well, yes, a little...”

“Just say the word Christine, and I will fix this for you, I swear it,” he said solemnly. 

“How?” she chuckled a little at his seriousness. 

“With my Punjab lasso, of course,” he said easily, as though it were the simplest and most obvious thing in the world. 

She wrinkled her nose. 

“What on earth is a _Punjab lasso_?”

“That is for me to know, and for the boy to worry over. You need not concern yourself with it,” he waved a hand as though shooting away her concerns. 

“Erm, well, thank you, but no thank you,” she raised an eyebrow. “It was just a lovers’ quarrel, really.”

“What over?” he asked, and coughed into a tissue before throwing it in the small trash can next to his bed. 

She let her eyes linger a moment on the used tissue and how it was tinged with pink. 

“It’s not important,” she said distantly, her mind still on the tissue. “We’ve had probably a hundred fights, but we always work through it.”

“A hundred?” he echoed. “Are you certain you want to marry someone you have so many fights with? That’s worrisome.”

Her attention was drawn back to the present, away from thoughts of her Papa and how his handkerchief had turned pink and then red towards the end. She narrowed her eyes and grinned at this man before her who acted as though he had any right to meddle in her engagement. She found it rather sweet, how quickly he wanted to fight Raoul to preserve her happiness. 

“No, it’s not like that - it was just a disagreement over the date of wedding. It’s something we tend to disagree on, but there’s really not much else we view differently, not _very_ much... Besides, we’ve been engaged for five years now, it’s not like we have fights every week!”

“Five years?” his eyes grew wide and he tutted. “Take it from a lifelong bachelor, Christine, anyone who puts off a marriage for _five years_ very clearly doesn’t want to get married.”

She cleared her throat. 

“No, _I’m_ the one who wants to wait. And I _do_ want to marry him. I just- want to wait.”

He studied her carefully, tilting his head and considering. 

“Don’t you love him?”

“I do!” she hurried to say, her heart leaping into her throat. “I do love him! It’s just-“

The words faltered and died on her tongue. 

“I can’t imagine wanting to wait so long to be wed, if I were in love,” he murmured, a look in his eyes that she couldn’t quite name. 

She ducked her head. 

“It’s different for men, Erik,” she said quietly. “When Raoul and I get married, very little is going to change for him. He’ll wear a ring and have a home cooked meal waiting for him when he gets off work. When I get married? Christine Daaé ceases to exist. _My_ money that I earn at _my_ job will go into _his_ bank account. Christine de Chagny needs to ask Monsieur de Chagny before she can do much of anything, as far as anyone is concerned.”

Erik looked vaguely surprised and rather sad. 

“I’d never considered that,” he admitted. 

“Right now, at the end of the day, whether I succeed or fail is entirely on me. I control my own destiny. I am... hesitant to give up the independence that I’ve worked so very hard to maintain... Even though I _do_ love Raoul very much,” she continued. “But once we’re wed, his decisions will greatly affect my life and not just his own.”

“He makes poor choices often, I take it?” 

She frowned and crossed her arms. 

“No,” she said slowly. “He’s just... not the best with money. We need to have more saved up, just in case.”

“Just in case he ruins your life?”

“Erik!”

“You aren’t saying ‘no’,” he said innocently. 

She threw up her hands. 

“He’s not going to _purposely_ financially ruin us!”

“Only accidentally, then,” he mused, and she gave him a long look. 

“Very regretfully accidentally,” she conceded. 

“Interesting.”

“About as interesting as what you’re having for lunch,” she stuck her tongue out at him. 

“Oh?”

“Potato salad.”

“ _Oh_ ,” he sunk back into the pillows that were propping him up. 

“The doctor wants to take a chest X-ray,” she added gently. 

“What’s that for?”

“To see inside of you.”

“Well, what does he expect to see, exactly?” he placed a hand over his chest nervously. 

She just smiled that sad smile of hers and shook her head. 

“It’s probably nothing.”

She desperately hoped it was nothing. 

She and Raoul swiftly made up, putting the incident behind them. She was glad of it for very many reasons, one of them that being around him made her forget all her worries at the hospital and her concerns over the health of her patients - and one patient in particular. Still, she found thoughts of Erik would creep up on her in her more quiet moments at home or in the middle of running errands. 

She didn’t know what it was that endeared him to her so. By all accounts, he should be the most insufferable man in earth. All of the other nurses considered him so. 

“Ooh, I don’t know how you can stand him, Christine,” Sorelli shuddered one night in the locker room as they were getting ready to leave. 

“He’s the patient from hell!” Cecile chimed in. 

Christine just laughed lightly. 

“He’s not that bad!”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to the bar with us? I’m sure you could use a drink after dealing with him all day,” Meg offered. 

Christine shook her head. 

“No, I’m seeing Raoul tonight. I’ll be okay. You have fun, though! Maybe I can go next time.”

She enjoyed her night out with Raoul, and was still smiling over it the next day when she took Erik out to the garden. 

“Something has you in a particularly good mood, my dear.”

“Raoul cooked an amazing meal for me last night,” she told him. “An old Swedish dish that was my favorite when I was girl. My Papa was from Sweden, you see, and he used to cook this for me all the time because I loved it so. Raoul was a dear to learn how to make it.”

“Ah. And I here I thought you were just pleased to see your Erik,” he sunk down a little in the wheelchair. 

“I’m always pleased to see you! I am be pleased about two things at once.”

Erik didn’t look convinced. 

“Do you want me to sing for you?” she asked as they settled themselves under a tree. 

“Actually,” he shifted nervously in the chair. “I was wondering if, perhaps, you would like _me_ to sing for _you_?”

She lit up. 

“Oh, Erik, I would love that!”

She’d never heard him sing, yet. He’d talked coyly about it numerous times, saying that he was an excellent singer and that he used to play the piano until the stiffness in his fingers made them too clumsy to play without frustration, but so far she’d never actually heard him sing or even hum a tune. 

“I haven’t sang in a while, you know,” he told her, looking at her anxiously as though he wanted to temper her expectations. “This is the first day in a while that I don’t feel very out of breath, but I’m probably very out of practice.”

“That’s okay,” she said kindly. “I still want to hear.”

She knew he was likely a little jealous over what she’d said about Raoul and was trying to vie for her attention. He was oddly jealous at times, or at least it seemed that way to her. She was no stranger to the occasional little crush a patient would seemingly develop for her - usually the older gentlemen, and sometimes the teenaged boys. She was flattered, but sent them all on their way with a polite smile - she couldn’t imagine feeling romantically towards someone in her care, especially not anyone so wildly far removed from her own age. Besides, she had Raoul. But it was nearly always harmless, and even for all his rudeness Erik seemed especially harmless, so she wanted to indulge him in whatever show of skills he wanted to put on for her. 

She braced herself for whatever he might manage to choke out - she’d seen the X-ray, she’d be surprised if he managed anything at all, really, with the way his lungs looked - preparing to give him glowing accolades and act impressed no matter how he sang. He was a sweet old man, underneath it all. All he wanted was for someone to pay attention and care. 

He took a deep breath, preparing himself, and then, nonchalantly looking away from Christine, he began to sing.


	3. Chapter 3

Christine felt as though she could scarcely breathe when she heard his voice. She’d never heard anything so smooth, so rich, so deep. As he sang out the _Nessun Dorma_ she felt as though she were falling off of a precipice and into a river of silk and starlight. It touched her very soul. She felt that she’d never truly heard Puccini’s work until now. 

He glanced over at her, a sly sparkle in his eyes that told her he was all too aware the effect his voice was having on her. He was about to reach the part where the chorus joined in. 

“ _Ed il mio bacio scioglierà il silenzio, che ti fa mia_ ,” he looked at her meaningfully, waving his hand encouragingly for her to join in. 

“ _Il nome suo nessun saprà,  
e noi dovrem, ahime, morir!_” she gasped out, managing to hit the right notes even though her voice trembled. 

He smiled widely and then finished the song strongly. From somewhere nearby, someone started clapping, though they couldn’t see where. 

Erik smiled, a strange mix of smug and innocent, bring a thin hand up to his throat. 

“Oh!” he sighed. “To be able to sing like the old days when I was young! My voice isn’t as good as it used to be, I’m afraid. That’s what aging does to you, I suppose, but I dare say it was rather decent today, all things considered.”

She brought her hands up to her mouth, speechless. 

“Does your boy sing?” he asked idly, terribly pleaded with himself as he casually adjusted the sleeves on his robe. 

“Oh, my word- Erik- I don’t- I don’t know what to say-“

He shrugged, as though he weren’t living for the reaction she was displaying. 

“You have the most amazing voice-“ she wavered, then realization dawned on her. “You sound like- you sound just like this artist I used to love, Charles Carrière-“

“ _Used_ to love?” he interjected, shocked. “Why the devil don’t you love him anymore?”

Her brow furrowed as she stared at him. 

“He- we studied him in university,” she said, slowly coming to an understanding. “He wrote and sang such beautiful music - he created _Don Juan Triumphant_! I was going to write my thesis on that! But he- but he- no one knew anything about him, where he was from, what he looked like-“

She faltered, shaking her head, not believing it. 

“He wrote six albums...” she trailed off. 

“Seven albums, Charles collaborated with Michael Claudine on that jazz thing, remember?” he said cooly. 

“You know about Michael Claudine?!” she squeaked. 

He shrugged again. 

“Naturally, my dear - I was him, too.”

She scooted back from him, pressing her hands harder against her face. 

“No,” she said into her hands. “No, it can’t be. Erik- you’re not- are you? Are _you_ Charles Carrière?”

“And Michael Claudine,” he nodded. “Please try to keep up, my dear.”

She shrieked behind her hands, bending forward to keep from swooning. Charles Carrière, her teenage crush and idol, called her _his dear_. 

He chuckled at this, beginning to look embarrassed. 

“Do you still love him?” he asked sheepishly. 

“Yes!” she squealed, then her face turned red. “I mean, you can’t imagine how much I love your work!”

He smiled. 

Her mind was reeling. If he was Charles Carrière, he was _exceedingly_ wealthy. And yet even in light of this revelation, even while seeing him in this new way, he was still just Erik underneath of it all - Erik, who liked pulling out his IVs and hated the green peas in the potato salad, who bitched and moaned when he was in direct sunlight, who complimented her hair even when she hadn’t washed it in a few days. 

She swallowed hard. 

“Oh, I can’t believe it! Why didn’t you tell us who you were? On your paperwork?”

His smile faded and he glanced away. 

“I did,” he said simply. “I’ve gone by ‘Erik’ longer than I’ve gone by ‘Charles’, and I prefer it, in a sense. They’re both names I picked for myself, but Charles is more of a persona, in a sense.”

“But everyone knows Charles,” she protested. “He won awards, for goodness’s sake! His music played in at least a dozen commercials on tv.”

“And no one has ever seen him,” he motioned to his mask. “Charles is the mask I wear when I want people to judge my music on its own merits and not be distracted by the man who wrote it.”

She considered this. It all made so much sense, now. How many months had she pondered over what the mysterious musician looked like, what he might be like as a person? All she had to know him by was his music, and apparently that’s how Erik had wanted it. 

“Do you not want me to mention it to anyone?” she asked in a hushed voice. “I can keep it a secret, if you want.”

“Clever girl,” he said appreciatively. “Yes, I’d prefer it very much. I’d rather no one know.”

“But you told me...”

“But I trust you.”

She felt the lump in her throat again. He had guarded this secret for decades, and now that she had been let in to the knowledge of it, she felt as though he were letting her hold a little piece of his heart, of his soul. 

“When Carrière stopped making music and just disappeared, I was so crushed,” she told him. “I even insisted to everyone I knew that he was going to do another album, just they wait and see. But- you never did.”

He held his hands out in front of him, examining them. 

“Arthritis,” he said. “At least, that’s what I think it is. I couldn’t play the same anymore, and I didn’t trust anyone else to play the music I wrote - they’d never capture it like it should be. So, I just...”

He shrugged helplessly. 

“I’d rather it not be heard, than heard wrong,” he stated. 

“So you still have music?” she asked in an awed whisper. “Things no one has heard before?”

“I do.”

“Oh,” she breathed 

“Don’t look too impressed, my dear, I don’t think anyone _will_ ever hear them,” he chuckled darkly. 

“This is like a dream come true,” she shook her head. “I can’t believe how lucky I am!”

He looked at her curiously. 

“It doesn’t... ruin the appeal? Knowing it’s only me?”

“Ruin the appeal? No, of course not! I practically _obsessed_ over you when I was in college, Erik,” she giggled, her face turning red again. “I listened to your music while studying all the time. To find out that this amazing voice is a man of flesh and blood, sitting here next to me?”

She struggled to find words to express it. 

“It’s _wonderful_ ,” she sighed. 

“Did you used to think I was very handsome?” he murmured. 

“Oh, _yes_ ,” she looked away, her face burning, and she began to babble in her nervousness. “ _Very_ handsome. But I think that music comes from the soul, and your music is beautiful, so I think it stands to reason that your soul is beautiful too.”

They were both quiet a long moment, he being deep in thought and she being too embarrassed to continue to speak. 

“When people see me,” he started quietly. “They see my mask first. They don’t see _me_. There were a handful of people who knew me as Charles Carrière, but even then...”

He lapsed into silence, the breeze rustling the leaves above them. 

“I got treated better as Carrière. But they weren’t treating _me_ better because of me, it was because of my talent, my fame. Charles Carrière was worthy of respect because he was depositing a check to the bank every month with six zeros at the end of the number. Erik was never afforded such goodwill. No one cared about Erik for Erik’s sake.”

He looked at her with a sidelong glance. 

“No one but Christine, that is.”

She sucked in a breath. 

“Why should I give people my talents and let them know who I was when they couldn’t afford me basic respect on the grounds that I was a _person_ first and foremost, not merely a jukebox that could earn them money?”

He tried to stifle a cough.

“They didn’t care about Carrière,” he continued. “They only cared about what they could get from him.”

“I’m sorry.”

He turned to look at her, shaking his head. 

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about,” he told her tenderly. “You’re the first person to treat Erik like a person even when he was just... _Erik_. I’m afraid you’ll never be able to truly know how much that meant to me.”

“Oh, Erik-“

“Can we go inside from this damned sunlight now?”

She laughed, blinking away the sting at the corner of her eyes. 

“Of course!”

She spent the rest of her day in a haze of surprise, still shocked at the turn of events. Every time she saw him she couldn’t help but grin, baffling the other nurses around her. He grinned right back, knowing that she wouldn’t betray his trust, that she was now guardian of this secret. Even better, he found that not only did she not let the secret slip, she didn’t treat him any differently beyond the silly looks she’d exchange with him now. 

She still brought him food for dinner before she left, and bid him farewell just as kindly as she had before - no more, no less. Just Christine, and just Erik. Carrière might as well have not even existed. 

“Potato salad again!” he moaned as she set the plate on his table.

“Grilled fish and potato salad,” she corrected him. 

“I would have though you’d at least go to the effort of removing the peas from it, now that you know who I am.”

She snickered. 

“And spare you the intellectual stimulation of being able to remove them yourself? Never. You need the enrichment of the experience.”

“You’re thinking of an animal at the zoo, Christine.”

“Come now - you’d be bored without anything to complain about, admit it.”

“I’ll never admit it - what would we have to argue about, then?”

After work she met Raoul in the park, having agreed earlier to go on a walk with him and look at the stars in the night sky. She greeted him with a dreamy smile.

“Raoul,” she said softly and hugged him, letting her arms twine about him before running her hands through his hair and surprising him with a deep kiss. 

“Lotte,” he breathed when she broke away, pleasantly shocked - she was usually not so bold in her affections. 

“Hold me a while,” she whispered, closing her eyes. 

He held her there under the moonlight in the deserted park, not certain what had come over her but enjoying it very much. He had no idea that her mind was a million miles away, consumed with the memory of a phantom of a man from her past that she’d only known as a voice, or that as she’d left work and walked to the park she’d been humming what was secretly her absolute favorite song from her absolute favorite album - _The Point of No Return_ from Carrière’s masterpiece _Don Juan Triumphant_ \- a shockingly vulgar song that was wrapped so romantically and sensually that she’d been drawn to it ever since hearing it, a song she’d never told anyone she loved because she was too embarrassed to let them know. 

He was blissfully ignorant that as she cuddled closer to him, she was, in fact, imagining hugging Carrière, imagining being that close to him, feeling the warmth of his body pressed to hers and how his arms held her so tightly. 

But even she was surprised to realize that the handsome face she’d always imagined for Carrière was blurred, somewhat replaced by a more familiar face now - or rather, a familiar mask. 

She sighed happily, and Raoul grinned. 

“What’s gotten you so happy?” he asked curiously when at last she pulled away. 

She just beamed up at him and shrugged her shoulders. 

“I’m just happy.”

They walked hand in hand, and she left her little fantasy behind her, certain that it didn’t mean anything at all that Carrière had Erik’s face. 

She carried that secret smile with her everywhere the next several days. Her lunchtime conversations with Erik turned to his illustrious career and stories about the writing and composing process. He was exceedingly proud of his work, but he spoke to her like an equal, like she was just as capable of understanding his genius as he was. It made her heart feel warm to be treated so. She hadn’t realized just how much she had missed the world of music - she hadn’t spoken this in depth on music with anyone since she was first at college, and even then, no one had known quite as much as Erik did. 

“You really should consider singing again,” Erik told her hopefully one day. “I could give you lessons.”

She ducked her head, wishing it was possible. 

“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t afford to pay you. And I don’t know when I’d have time - I like having quiet time at home after work, and when I’m not sleeping or getting ready to sleep, I’m with Raoul, and if I’m not with Raoul- well, I’m at work.”

“Hmm.”

He studied her but said nothing. 

Four glorious days passed after she’d found out who he was - four days filled with all the joy she thought life had to offer. Things were good with Raoul, things were good at work, things were good with Erik. She worked, she sang sometimes with Erik when she could, and she had meals with Raoul. 

Sometimes she thought she was going to burst by not telling anyone what she knew, like a balloon with too much air in it. But even more than that, she enjoyed having something that no one else knew except for her and Erik. It felt right, somehow. There was something between them, she wasn’t sure what, but it had been there even before finding out that he was Carrière, and now this shared secret felt like proof of that something that existed only for them. He had been a stranger when he first entered the hospital, but something about him made her feel like she’d known him for ages. She’d had other patients who were under her care for longer, but she’d never had the kind of rapport with them as she did with Erik. 

It really was a splendid few days, which was why what happened was all the more surprising. 

She should have seen it coming, she knew. She was a bright nurse, she’d treated patients for over five years, she’d seen lab work like Erik’s before. 

But even so, it still felt like a cold punch in the gut when, after cheerily greeting Erik one morning, she picked up his chart and read the notes the doctor had left earlier that morning. 

Erik finally had his diagnosis. Not just one diagnosis, but three - her heart sank to read them. 

She glanced up at him, suddenly feeling miserable. He was standing by the window, staring out at the view of the street down below as little people and cars went about their lives. He didn’t acknowledge her, and was strangely silent. 

She looked back down at the notes again, willing them to say something else - anything else, anything other than what they said. 

All three were bad enough on their own, but combined? She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. There, in the scribbled, half-legible notes, between words like “stage four” and “too far past treatment”, was the little sentence that utterly broke her heart. 

_Conditions likely to prove fatal within six months._


	4. Chapter 4

Her world felt like the bottom had fallen out of it. Erik was going to die. With shaking hands, she hung his chart back up and took a step towards him. 

“Erik-“

“The doctor just left a little while ago,” he murmured softly. “You just missed him.”

“I’m very sorry to hear this, Erik,” she managed. 

“I certainly wasn’t expecting it, either,” he said, still staring out the window. 

She came to stand next to him, her brow knit in concern. 

“Is there anyone you’d like to talk to?” she asked, and he shook his head. 

They were both quiet a moment. 

“It’s just-“ he started, looking pained. “I just thought I had more time.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

“I had so much more I wanted to do, to see... to experience. And now-“ he trailed off helplessly. 

“Now I’ll never get to.”

His words fell flat. 

The optimist in her tried to rise up. 

“What kind of things?” she asked, placing a hand on his arm. 

“I wanted to travel. I’ve traveled a fair deal in the past, but there were still places I wanted to see.”

“You can still see them,” she tried. “You still have a little time, enough time.”

He turned to her, his eyes holding all the sadness in the world. 

“It wasn’t just about seeing them, Christine. It was about being able to share the experience with someone. I thought-“ he faltered. “I thought that one day, eventually, I might meet someone... But I didn’t. And now I never will. It’s all over, and I never- I never found anyone.”

She stared out the window, thinking about how much harder the hard places in her life would have been without Raoul and his gentle, steady presence. So often she would have been entirely alone, like Erik was now. 

“You deserve to have those experiences even if you’re by yourself,” she told him. “You deserve to see the places you wanted to see.”

He chuckled darkly and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Debatable, but pointless - I’m in no condition to travel to by myself, anyway. It’s over. Done for. This is it, I suppose.”

She shook her head, trying to refute it, but couldn’t find the words to do so. Erik’s story couldn’t here - it wasn’t fair! 

“Erik-“

Whatever words she was going to say were cut off by Sorelli peeking in the room. 

“Christine, Meg wants you on floor four,” she said. 

“Okay,” she told her, then turned to Erik, asking quietly- “Will you be okay?”

“Attend to your work, Christine Daaé,” he sighed. 

She returned to the fourth floor where her patients were waiting and she helped Meg, Erik in the back of her mind all the while. 

This was why she’d requested to work the pediatric floor - she hated losing patients. Each one was a heartbreak, the world made a little less by their absence. And yet, none of them had felt as personal a loss as she knew losing Erik was going to feel. 

“Do you want to talk?” she leaned against the door of his room after bringing him his lunch. 

“No,” he stared at the ham and cheese sandwich on his plate with a side of chips but didn’t touch it. 

“Do you want me to sing for you?”

“No,” he said. “Not right now.”

“Do you want me to sit with you?”

“I think I’d like to be alone for a little while, please,” he said flatly. 

She nodded and left, but he wasn’t far from her thoughts. 

She came to check on him several more times, one of those times to take his empty lunch tray. She was heartened, at least, that he seemingly still had an appetite - it never occurred to her to look in the trash bin for the sandwich and chips, that they were hidden there, uneaten, under a handful of crumpled used tissues. 

He wasn’t very talkative each visit, and at last it was time for her to leave. 

“Are you going to be okay tonight?” she asked, looking at him closely. 

His eyes were dull and lacked the spark that had been there previously. It pained her to see him like this. 

“I- I can stay here with you a while, if you want. I was supposed to have dinner with Raoul tonight, but if I ask, I can pick up another shift here... I’m sure Raoul will understand.”

“No, that’s okay,” he glanced up, his interest mildly caught. “Where are you going to dinner?”

“My apartment. I’m cooking.”

“Are you a good cook?”

“I try,” she smiled a little but it quickly faded. 

“Hmm. Enjoy your dinner with your boy. You deserve good things.”

“Okay,” she blinked back a few tears. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

He looked at her as though he intended to memorize her. 

“Goodnight, Christine.”

There was something about the way he whispered it that made her want to call Raoul and tell him their plans were canceled, that she needed to stay here with him tonight. 

But she nodded and turned to leave instead. 

“Goodnight Erik,” her voice was thick with unshed tears. 

She felt unmoored the for rest of the evening. How had everything been going so well so recently? And now this? She didn’t understand. 

She cooked dinner - boiling the pasta and seasoning the sauce - and set the table feeling like she was in a fog. Soon there was a knock on the door. 

“Hi, Raoul,” she greeted him as she opened the door for him. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

“You won’t believe the day I’ve had, Lotte!” he hung his jacket on the hook on the wall and began telling her about the nonsense that Alan, the man whose office was next to his, had gotten up to. 

She nodded along as she brought their food out to the table, mostly interested, but her mind kept straying back to Erik. Eventually, halfway through the meal, Raoul noticed.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, concerned. “You don’t seem your normal self.”

She set her fork down and sighed. 

“It’s my patient,” she explained. “We just found out today that he doesn’t have very long to live.”

“Oh,” Raoul said. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded. It always upset her to lose patients, and it never got easier, but something about losing Erik in particular was weighing heavily on her. 

“He just seems so sad,” she continued, her brow furrowing. 

“Well, I imagine he is.”

“All those things he’ll never get to do...”

“Is he very young, then?”

“Not very - he’s in his sixties, I think, but still- he had a lot he wanted to do.”

Raoul shrugged.

“If he hasn’t done them by the time he’s fifty, did he even really want to do them?”

She grit her teeth, ignoring his remark. Sometimes he could be so flippant, it annoyed her. Did he really not have anything he hoped to do one day that he was currently unable to do until the future? Did that make him want it any less? 

“He wanted to travel, Raoul, but he’s too sick to do so, at least not by himself. There were places he wanted to see.”

Raoul chewed a bite, considering this. 

“Well how far was he wanting to travel?” he said finally, his brow furrowing. “Why doesn’t he just take a taxi, if he can’t drive himself or whatever?”

“I think he wanted to travel a little further than a taxi could take him...”

Raoul made a face, then shook his head. 

“I can’t imagine wanting to go that far. There’s so much close by, why bother going anywhere else?”

Christine stared at him a long moment, her expression blank. She loved where she lived, but she was quite familiar with the little tug at her heart that made her want to visit different lands and wander far from where she lived. She’d felt that ever since she could remember. Didn’t everyone feel that? Were some people really content to spend their whole life in the city they’d been born in? 

She looked at her plate and poked at her spaghetti with her fork. 

“He wants to see things he can’t see around here,” she said, a hint of something in her voice that she hoped Raoul wouldn’t pick up on, something sharp and irritated. 

“That’s what picture books are for!” he said around a too-large bite of spaghetti. 

She tried to hide her scowl behind her napkin as she brought up to her mouth. 

“Let the photographers and explorers go see all that stuff! They can send the normal people like you and me a postcard,” he continued. 

Normal people. She didn’t know what to make of that remark. 

“You don’t want to travel?” she asked. “After we’re married?”

He looked up from his plate, confused. 

“Travel where?”

“Anywhere,” she shrugged. “Anywhere that isn’t France.”

“Nah.”

She cleared her throat a little. 

“I would like to travel.”

Raoul hesitated at her statement, then he smiled and shook his head. 

“You say the silliest things sometimes, Lotte. Say, did you put red pepper in the sauce this time? It’s really good!”

She smiled politely and let the topic change. He wasn’t doing it on purpose, she knew, but those seven little words burrowed into her subconscious and pinched at her the rest of the night. 

Despite an otherwise pleasant evening with Raoul, she still felt the weight of Erik’s prognosis settling around her like a heavy cloud. She was feeling blue when she went to bed that night, and the feeling lingered when she got up in the morning. 

It did not improve upon arriving at the hospital. 

She headed for the fifth floor first, but before she could enter Erik’s room, Sorelli pulled her aside, her face serious. 

“He’s in a bad way, Christine,” she said quietly. “He wouldn’t eat dinner last night and he refused breakfast this morning - he won’t drink anything but he won’t let anyone put an IV in, either. He refuses to talk to anyone and he’s insisting that he wants to leave - the doctor explained to him that he wants him to stay for a few days longer so he can gather up some strength again, but Erik’s saying he doesn’t want to.”

Christine listened and tried not to cry at her words. She nodded. 

“I’ll talk to him,” she said. 

She entered the room, noticing first off that his mask was on his beside table. He was facing away from her, leaning into the pillows he had propped up behind him. 

“Good mo-“

“Go away,” he interrupted, and her words caught in her throat. 

“That’s no way to talk to your favorite,” she tried to sound stronger and cheerier than she felt. 

“Are you here to tell me I can leave?”

She fidgeted with her hands, not sure what to say. 

“I don’t think leaving is best for you,” she said softly. 

“I don’t care what’s best for me, it doesn’t matter. I want to leave.”

“Erik, you’re too weak to leave right now, you haven’t even eaten in-“

“Just let me go home and die,” he nearly begged, pressing his face against his pillow. “I don’t want to be here in this place anymore. I want to go home.”

He was sobbing into the pillow and Christine couldn’t stand it. On shaking legs, she hurried around to the other side of the bed, taking ahold of his hand, not caring that she might see his unmasked face. 

“Erik! Don’t talk that way!”

“I don’t want to spend what little time I have left here,” he cried. “Please, let me go home where no one is going to gawk and prod at me anymore!”

“Erik!” her voice hurt to use it, too clouded by emotion. “Please, don’t be like this - if you just let us help you-“

“I don’t want anybody’s help! I don’t need it! Nobody cares about Erik! Just let him go home so he can die in peace and cease to blight the earth!”

She sank to her knees, losing control of herself. Tears poured down her face and she choked on her sobs. 

“I care about you!” she sobbed. “I care! Please Erik, I want you to live! Oh, Erik!”

He turned his face the pillow, looking at her with watery and incredulous eyes. She was crying over him, crying with him, for him. 

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she pleaded, squeezing his hand as he stared at her and sniffled. “You have six months, maybe more! Especially if you take care of yourself!”

She wiped at her eyes and nose, swallowing down her tears. 

“I don’t want you to die, Erik, not like this.”

At these words he turned his face away from the pillow and towards her slightly, his yellow eyes so full of surprise that it almost drowned out his sorrow. 

“Christine wants Erik to live? Why?” he asked in a hoarse whisper, his own tears gone in the wake of this shocking revelation. 

“Because,” she choked and swallowed. “Because you still have life to live - because you still matter - because you still have things you want to do, I know you do, and you need to do them- _please_ Erik, don’t let it end in despair, not like this-“

He sat up a little, and even in her breakdown she was struck at how expressive his face really was. He placed a shaking hand over his nose hole and grabbed for some tissues to wipe at it. 

“Sorry,” he muttered.

She shook her head. 

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. 

“If I stay-“ he hesitated. “What would happen?”

She took a tremulous breath. 

“If you stay, we can get as much of you back to normal as we can,” she told him. “You can get stronger and feel better, and you’ll be as healthy as you’re capable of being. You’ll be able to put your affairs in order and then maybe when you do go, you’ll be a little more at peace...”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

Her lip trembled. 

“Yes,” she whispered. “But I think- if you think about, that’s what you’d want too. You just don’t realize it yet.”

He handed her a few clean tissues and she got up from the floor by his bedside and sat in the chair instead. 

“If your doctor had told you that you had two days to live- well, you’d probably give anything for another six months, wouldn’t you?” she dabbed at her eyes. 

“Will I be well enough to travel?” he asked, thinking. 

“I don’t know. Maybe. There’s only one way to know for sure. You certainly can’t travel if you go home and starve yourself to death though.”

He nodded distantly. 

“Do you think-“ he looked at her helplessly. “Do you think I should- is it worth a try?”

“It’s always worth trying,” she said quietly. 

He nodded and rolled up the sleeve of his robe. 

“I guess you can do an IV,” he murmured. “I didn’t eat lunch yesterday, either.”

“Oh Erik,” she sighed. 

A half hour later, Cecile had taken over for Christine on the fourth floor, and Christine sat by Erik’s bedside once more as he slowly ate a vanilla pudding and drank some warm tea. She had a cup of tea in her own hands, as well. 

“It’s always difficult, right after finding out,” she said gently. “It’s normal, what you’re feeling. But there can still be a bit of hope, too, once you come to terms with it.”

They sat in silence a long while. It wasn’t until Erik had finished his pudding and Christine smiled at him for doing so that he spoke. 

“No one has ever cried over me before,” he said simply, not able to meet her red-ringed eyes. “No one has- _wanted_ me to live.”

“Oh?” 

She felt her heart start to break again for this poor man. 

“My mother, when I was small, she-“ he paused, a far off look in his eyes, and he shook his head. “No one’s ever wanted me to live.”

She smiled weakly, her eyes watering again. 

“Then you simply must live on,” she said, trying to keep the tears from her voice. “To spite your enemies.”

“I do have a lot of enemies,” he said with a wobbly smile. 

She laughed through her tears. It was the first hint she’d seen of his old personality since he’d found out. 

He raised his cup of tea.

“A toast, then,” he proposed. 

“To spite,” she said with a little smile, raising her cup to his. 

“To you,” he corrected, and she could tell, even with the mask back in place, that he was giving her a look that made her heart skip a beat. 

She drank her tea, not able to keep meeting his eye. 

They discussed what his treatment plan would be, and what his options were. 

“If we can get as many of your abnormal levels to normal levels as we can, you’ll feel a lot better.”

His brow wrinkled behind his mask. 

“I don’t feel that bad right now.”

“I think you’re just used to feeling terrible,” she said gently. 

He sighed. 

“We can’t do a whole lot for your heart or your lungs, but you’ll have a lot more good than bad days if you’re otherwise healthier. A few lifestyle changes will really make a difference.”

“Do you think it’s worth it?”

She could hear the unasked question underneath - _do you think I’m worth it?_

“I do.”

He put in the effort, everything she asked of him. He ate every meal she brought, endured every injection she saw fit, swallowed every pill, drank more water than he ever had in his life. 

His melancholy mood lingered, but Christine could tell that behind it was a thread of a hope, and a streak of stubbornness. He became less witty, preferring to muse on other feelings. Occasionally he snapped at her in his frustration, and this left him feeling terribly guilty. 

It was after one such event that he refused to speak to her for hours, too ashamed of how he had behaved towards her when he’d raised his voice and called her an _inconsiderate chit_ after she’d accidentally hit a nerve while trying to place an IV in his hand upon finding his arm was too bruised to continue using. 

She hadn’t particularly appreciated it, but she knew how badly it must have hurt and that he didn’t really mean it, so she tried to let it slide. 

It was hours after it had happened that he finally spoke again - in a way. 

She had returned to take his lunch tray back to kitchen, and suddenly found herself addressed by the styrofoam cup on the tray. 

“Erik is sorry for his abominable words,” the cup seemed to say. 

Her eyes widened in surprise. She glanced at Erik, who was looking in a different direction. Her eyes narrowed. So _this_ was what had made Cecile Jammes cry. 

“I hope Erik’s hand is feeling better,” she told the styrofoam cup. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I think he knows that.”

“Do you forgive him?” the cup asked hopefully. 

She had to admit, the effect was rather unnerving. Were she a girl of nineteen with a weak constitution, she might cry too upon hearing that soft squeaky voice seemingly emanate from an inanimate object. 

“I forgive him. I don’t even know what a ‘chit’ is, anyway.”

Erik laughed at this, turning his thankful gaze on her. She smiled at him before taking the tray to dispose of the talking cup. 

They still talked during her lunch breaks, spending time in the garden. 

“I wish I’d spent more time trying to get to know people,” he said one day. “There were people, sometimes, who weren’t as bad as the rest... But I pushed them all away, I suppose. How ironic that I now see what’s important in life, when it’s nearly too late.”

He was quiet a moment, then spoke up again. 

“You’re lucky you have your boy,” he said. “I know you’re very worried about money, but if he loves you, and you love him- that’s all that really matters. That’s the most important thing.”

“That’s easy to say when you have as much money as you do,” she said softly. “Love won’t pay the bills.”

“And that’s easy for you to say, when you’ve been so loved all your life,” he murmured. “Money can’t hold your hand when you’re dying.”

She looked away, but his words didn’t leave her. 

She considered them again that night as she brushed her hair and put lotion on her hands, preparing for bed. She very nearly called Raoul on the phone, very nearly told him that she wanted to get married as soon as possible, but she didn’t. Something held her back, but she couldn’t put her finger on it was. 

_If he loves you and you love him, that’s all that matters._

But she still didn’t call Raoul. 

Erik ended up staying at the hospital for a week after finding out. At last he was as well as he was going to get, and they prepared him to leave. 

“These are the symptoms to watch for, if you have them, call us soon as possible,” she handed him a paper, and then a small stack of pamphlets. “These have some more information on your diagnosis, call us if you have any questions. This one is about helping you with your new diet - remember, low sodium, as much as you can.”

“I’ll try to cut down to drinking only one bottle of soy sauce a day.”

“Erik!” she gave him a stern and alarmed look. 

He smiled, and her own look gave way to a smile as well. She longed to see that smile on his face all the time, and she couldn’t fault him for whatever humor he managed to find in the situation. 

“Christine,” he asked timidly. “Do you think- maybe sometime soon, we could-?”

“We could what?”

“Talk,” he breathed. “Just talk. I don’t have very many people to talk to.”

She knew that he didn’t have anyone at all to talk to. 

“Of course, Erik,” she paused, then fished a pen out of her pocket and scribbled a number on one of the pamphlets. 

“It, ah, it wouldn’t be _right_ for a nurse to, you know, give out her personal number to a patient for personal reasons,” she glanced at the clock. “But you’re only my patient for fifteen more minutes, so this is for if you have symptoms and aren’t sure if you should come in to the hospital or not.”

She handed him the pamphlet and he folded it up, placing it in his pocket. 

“Ah,” he said seriously. “Of course. Symptoms.”

“Mm hmm. Yes.”

She wheeled him outside then helped him out of the wheelchair and onto the curb in front of the hospital, fussing over him one last time. He was wearing the button-up shirt and black slacks he’d been wearing when he’d passed out in the street two weeks ago, and this was the first time she’d seen him in something other than a hospital gown. 

They both lingered there, uncertain. Would she ever see him again, after this? 

“Thank you so much, Christine,” he said sincerely. “You’ve been more than kind to me these weeks. I can’t ever express how much it means to me.”

“I was more than happy to help you, Erik,” she said warmly. “I hope that you’re able to do well after this.”

A look of concern passed over his face. 

“I can still call you, yes?” he asked anxiously. 

“Oh, yes! For any reason. I’d love to keep in touch. I’m going to miss our afternoons together!”

He smiled sheepishly. 

“I’ll miss them too.”

She wanted to stay longer, and he seemed to want the same but-

“I’ve got to get back to work now,” she said softly. 

“Oh! Right. Yes. I won’t keep you, then,” he ran a hand through his hair, embarrassed. 

“Bye, Erik.”

She had to hide the tremble in her voice. She didn’t want him to leave. 

“Bye,” he echoed. 

She turned regretfully, pushing the now empty wheelchair back into the hospital. She glanced behind her as she walked through the doors, noticing Erik was still standing there, watching her like a puppy would watch its master leave it behind in the woods. She waved a little, and he waved back, ducking his head like he hadn’t realized she could still him staring at her. 

She finished her shift at work, and went right home. She felt like she was waiting for something but she wasn’t sure what - until the phone rang. She practically leaped to answer it. 

“Hello?” she asked breathlessly. 

“Lotte!”

Her face fell, then she felt a wave of annoyance at herself. This was her fiancé, whom she loved. She should want to talk to him. 

“Hey Raoul,” she twisted the cord around her finger. 

“How was work?”

“It was okay. Erik got discharged today.”

“Who?”

“ _Erik_ ,” she sighed. “The older patient, remember?”

_I’ve only mentioned him eight times to you already_ , she bit the words back. 

“Oh, I remember,” Raoul said, but she wasn’t so certain that he did. “He’s the one with gout?”

“He’s _dying_!” she squealed. 

“Oh! Right,” he paused, then asked, baffled- “You can die from gout?”

“What? No! He has heart failure!”

Raoul was awkwardly silent. 

“How was your day?” she asked stiffly. She knew that he cared, he just... Didn’t have a good memory. At least, not when it came to her job, it seemed. 

“It was kind of boring today,” he admitted. “I missed you.”

A smile floated across her face, with a hint of guiltiness. She hadn’t thought about him at all today. 

“We should go to lunch soon,” she told him. 

“Yeah! I have a business meeting tomorrow during lunch, but we could do the day after tomorrow?”

“That works,” she agreed, thinking of her lonely lunch breaks now that Erik had left. 

“Swell! My meeting tomorrow is with Poligny and Firmin. I think this could be a really good opportunity for me, if they can see that I know what I’m talking about, you know?”

“Uh huh,” Christine said encouragingly, but glanced up at the clock on the wall. 

Normally she didn’t mind listening to him no matter how long he wanted to talk about his bosses, but tonight she wanted to keep the phone line free in case Erik wanted to call. Raoul could call anytime, but Erik- 

She chewed on her lip and listened to him talk for fourteen minutes straight. 

“Anyway,” he said finally. “What’s new with you?”

She half wanted to say _nothing_ and hang up. But he had missed her, and they hadn’t talked terribly much the past few days. 

“I’ve been reading a new book,” she said. 

“Oh?”

“It’s called ‘ _Leaves of Grass_ ’, and it’s a book of poems-“

“Poems?”

She could practically hear him wrinkling his nose. 

“What’s wrong with poems?”

“Nothing, I guess. They’re just not for me.”

She was quiet. She’d been looking forward to telling him about some of them - she’d had such interesting conversations with Erik over the book, and she’d been hoping to have similar ones with Raoul. 

“It’s getting late,” she said quietly. 

“Yeah, I didn’t realize,” he said, a mix between sheepish and cheerful. 

She chalked it up to stress and frayed nerves, but it bothered her more than she cared to admit that he was still so cheerful. Didn’t he hear the hurt in her tone? She’d wanted to tell him more about the book, but he’d just brushed her off. If she’d been talking to Erik, he would have noticed immediately - he always seemed so attuned to her moods, even while dealing with his own issues. Raoul didn’t have to share every interest of hers, she didn’t expect that, but _still_ -

“Goodnight, Raoul.”

“Goodnight, Lotte, sleep w-“

She hung up the phone. 

She was behaving childishly, she knew, but she hadn’t wanted to talk to him on the phone tonight anyway - she’d wanted peace and quiet and to be able to hear her own thoughts, or, barring that, to talk to Erik. It peeved her to think of poor Erik all alone in his home, wearing his ‘house mask’ (whatever that was), holding the phone nervously as he dialed her number only to get a busy signal, and all because Raoul had to drone on about old man Poligny and the stock market. 

She hugged one of the various throw pillows on the couch. What if Erik didn’t call her? She didn’t know why that thought felt so devastating. She worried over her patients and sometimes thought of them when she wasn’t at work, even ones who had been discharged ages ago, but that had always been with a distant sense of curiosity - were their lives going okay? Were they happy and healthy? Had some little personal worry of theirs that they’d shared with her turned out okay? - but it had never been like this before, like a physical ache in her chest. 

She’d cared for dying patients before. She was no stranger to it. It was difficult every time, but _this_? The thought that Erik had walked out of her life and that one day he just wouldn’t exist anymore? It was nearly suffocating. 

She sighed and went to her bedroom, trying not to think about it. Was she being silly to think he was going to call her? 

She tried not to think of it in the morning when she woke and dressed and walked to work, and tried not to think of it during her shift - and especially during her lunch break, which she spent down in the locker room, dim fluorescent lights buzzing like the thought of Erik in her brain, the sandwich that she’d packed for herself tasting dry and unsatisfying compared to the afternoons she’d spent skipping food and living on music alone. 

She hurried home again that evening, but the phone was silent as she prepared dinner for herself and ate. It was silent as she took a bath, the only sound in the apartment the drip of the leaky faucet and the gentle ghost of the music being played on the radio by her neighbor to the left of her. It was silent as she brushed her hair and put cold cream on her face. She came to terms with the idea that she really had seen and heard the last of him, deciding to pluck a few stray hairs of her eyebrows so that she could pretend to have reason for why her eyes felt watery. 

She sighed as she turned off the lights in the house, getting ready to go to bed. She had lunch with Raoul tomorrow, and she knew she should feel enthusiastic about that, but it was difficult when she couldn’t explain to him how she was feeling. 

Perhaps that wasn’t quite right - she _could_ explain, but Raoul would only give her that puzzled look, or else he’d say something he thought was supportive but something that entirely missed the mark. They’d known each other for so very long, and yet she still felt like certain parts of her soul were a stranger to him. He wasn’t purposely careless or forgetful, he loved her very much, she knew that. But it didn’t ease the loneliness she still felt at times, even when she was with him. 

She went in to her bedroom, glancing at the powder blue phone that rested there next to her metal alarm clock and little round lamp. As soon as her eyes fell upon it, the phone rang, surprising her. 

Trying to temper her expectations, she assumed it must be Raoul, wanting to confirm their lunch tomorrow, or perhaps with news of how his meeting had gone. 

“Hello?”

“Christine,” Erik breathed on the other end, as though he couldn’t believe that she’d answered. 

Her heart skipped a beat, fear and excitement mixing together. 

“Erik? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he hurried to say. “How- how are you? 

She smiled a little at how uncertain he sounded, how much like a schoolboy he seemed. 

“I’m good,” she sank onto her bed, pressing the phone closer to her ear. She’d missed his voice. “Work’s been so boring without you. How are you doing?”

“I miss you,” he said wistfully. 

Her heart twisted. Poor Erik!

“And I was wondering-“ he paused, swallowing hard. “Do you think- can I take you out to lunch tomorrow?”

“Oh! Um-“

“As a _thank you_ , you understand - you took such good care of me, and I wanted to thank you - and I though that I could take you out to lunch, maybe.”

It felt awkwardly close to a date, and she was engaged. She should turn him down. Not only that, she already had lunch plans with Raoul tomorrow. 

“Uh, sure! Where at?”

He was harmless. He was lonely. Besides, she enjoyed his company. Raoul could wait. 

“There’s a little cafe not too far from the hospital,” he said hopefully. “Do you know the one? It’s painted green on the outside.”

“Yeah! I’ve seen it. That sounds good. I’ll meet you there around noon, then?”

“Noon, yes. I’ll see you then.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she smiled. 

“As am I,” he lingered on the line, not wanting to hang up but not certain what else to say, so he added awkwardly- “I hope you sleep well tonight.”

“You too, Erik. You need your rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Christine.”

A pause. 

“Erik, I’m hanging up now,” she chuckled. 

“Okay. Goodnight.”

She stifled a laugh as she hung up the phone. She could just picture him continuing to listen even after she’d done so. Really, it was like the man had never talked on the phone before. 

She fell asleep with a smile that night. 

She awoke early the next morning, realizing something rather important. Still blinking as her mind tried to get up to speed for the day, she grabbed the phone and dialed the number that was so familiar she could have dialed it while she was asleep. 

“Raoul,” she said to the sleepy voice that muttered a confused _hello?_ on the other end. “Something came up, I can’t have lunch today.”

“Aw geeze, Lotte, it’s five in the morning!” he whined. 

“I know but I wanted to tell you ahead of time.”

Raoul groaned loudly. 

“Okay,” he said. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow... Thanks, Raoul. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too... When you don’t wake me up at five,” he teased. 

“Hey!” she laughed. 

“Everything okay? What came up?”

She paused a moment. 

“Its fine. It’s just- it’s a work thing.”

It was, in a way. He might not be a patient anymore, but she had met him through work. She’d explain it to him more thoroughly if she thought he’d care or even _remember_ who Erik was. 

“Okay,” he accepted it easily enough. 

“Have good day at work, dear,” she told him warmly. 

“You too, Lotte. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It was only five in the morning, but she already couldn’t wait for lunch. 

Time dragged and then it raced in turn. During her shift it seemed lunch would never arrive, but once the clock struck a quarter to noon, it seemed she didn’t have enough time to get ready to see him. 

She fussed over herself in the mirror of the locker room, re-powdering her nose. She almost opened her tube of lipstick, but decided against it. She was saving it for a special occasion, and she felt silly wearing it for seeing Erik when she hadn’t even worn it yet for seeing Raoul. 

She walked there as quick as she could, eager to see him again. 

He wasn’t in the cafe when she got there, so she approached the hostess to get a table for them. 

“A booth for two, please,” she told the hostess. “The other person should be here soon-“

She startled as Erik appeared at her side. 

“Oh!” her face turned unaccountably pink. “You’re here!”

The hostess led them both to to a booth towards the back of cafe, even though there was hardly anyone in the place. 

Christine frowned a little. 

“How odd,” she mused as she sat down. 

“It’s me,” Erik said coolly. “I’m sure they don’t want the other customers to lose their appetite at the sight of me.”

“Oh, Erik-“ she looked at him with concern. “I’m sure that’s not-“

For the second time she lost her train of thought looking at him. 

His hair was impeccably slicked back, and his clothing - black slacks, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a black waistcoat, and a thin black tie - was crisp and sharp. 

“Is something wrong?“ he asked, confused. 

“No! No... I’m sorry. Have you been here before?”

He didn’t look as frail as he had in the hospital. Beyond the brief little while just before he’d left, she’d never seen him in his own clothing. Was this really how he dressed? She hadn’t anticipated him being any different than he had been at the hospital. But this was not the nightgown-clad weary old man she’d pushed in a wheelchair so he could get some fresh air. Erik had neglected to list his age on his chart (most likely because he didn’t know it, from what he’d told her) but she would have guessed, back then, that he was pushing his late sixties if not higher. But now... 

She swallowed, but her throat was dry. 

If one overlooked the swiftly greying hair, he might be in his early fifties or even late forties. 

“Never,” he murmured, looking over the menu. “I don’t get out terribly much.”

“Oh,” she trained her eyes firmly on the menu, suddenly awkward. 

This was not at all like being around him in the hospital. She had neglected to realize just how comfortable she was with the nurse-patient dynamic - when they were at the hospital, she held all the power. They had been on her turf, and he had been a guest there. Now, sitting here across from him, she suddenly felt like _she_ was the one wearing a flimsy old hospital gown, incapacitated and weak and vulnerable. It wasn’t a position she was used to being in - or rather, it was one she avoided at every opportunity. Out here, beyond the hospital where she worked, beyond the little bubble of her personal empowerment, she was no longer the one with the upper hand in any given situation. 

“Can’t go wrong with soup, I suppose,” he muttered, squinting at the back of the menu. 

“You really can’t,” she squeaked. 

She realized that she was possibly in over her head - this wasn’t eating lunch with her patient - this was eating lunch with a _man_. How had she so stupidly overlooked that little fact? 

“How’s _Leaves of Grass_?” he asked kindly, looking up from the menu. 

“Huh? Oh! It’s- it’s really good. I’m almost finished.”

She smiled, able to breathe a little easier. He was intimidating as a man, possibly more than she cared to admit, but he was still Erik. She surely didn’t have anything to fear from him. 

“How have you been?” she asked. 

“I have been... thinking,” he started, and looked away. “I know it’s only been a day or that I’ve been out, but I _do_ feel better now, more so than when I arrived at the hospital. So... Thank you. I’m glad I followed your advice.”

She looked down at the Formica table, smiling and blinking hard. 

“I’m glad,” she said her voice a little thick with hidden tears that wanted to come to the surface. 

She looked up to say something more, but the waiter came to take their order. 

Erik politely waited for her to order first - a sandwich, fries and a coffee - and then he ordered a soup and salad for himself. She ducked her head as the waiter left. 

“I should have ordered something healthier,” she said sheepishly. 

“Nonsense, my dear, there’s no reason you have to suffer along with me,” he smiled. 

“I’m glad you’re feeling a little better, Erik, I mean it.”

“I’m glad too,” he said softly. “And I’m glad you accepted my invitation to lunch. I trust you’ve been well, since I saw you last?”

“Yeah,” she tried to sound convincing, but he tilted his head, giving her a questioning look. “I’ve just been worried.”

“About?”

“ _You_.”

He looked surprised. 

“Truly?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’re friends, aren’t we?” 

He was silent for a moment, his eyes wide and unblinking as he watched her pick tiny pieces off of her paper napkin with her long nails. 

“We are,” he agreed cautiously. 

“You’re not just humoring me, are you?” she looked up at him suddenly. 

“No! Not at all!” he scrambled to say. “You’re not humoring me, either, right?”

The level of anxiety visible on his face made her laugh out loud. 

“Oh my word, Erik, look at us,” she snickered. 

His anxiety melted away and he started to laugh as well. 

“We _are_ friends,” she said it to assure herself just as much as him. “And I hope we’ll continue to be friends for a long time.”

Erik raised his glass of water in a mocking toast. 

“For about six months!” he said with a wry smile. 

Her eyes widened. He set his glass down and cleared his throat, realizing far too late that the joke had been in poor taste. 

“Ah, _anyway_ ,” he said. “You can’t imagine how glad I was to hear your voice on the phone last night. I don’t remember the last time I made a call for personal reasons.”

She tried to hide her smile. That explained his utter awkwardness, then. 

“I know I said that I wanted to take you to lunch as a thank-you - and I do! - but I also wanted to discuss something with you.”

“Oh?”

The waiter brought them their food. 

“What did you want to discuss?” she asked as soon as he left, taking a bite of her sandwich. 

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, as I believe I mentioned earlier,” he said nervously, stirring his soup. “Thinking about what I want to do with myself, with the next few months.”

She nodded, looking at him sympathetically. 

“I’m sure it’s a little overwhelming,” she offered. 

“It certainly is,” he murmured, studying her. “But I know I still want to travel. Do you- do you think I would be up to that?”

She thought about it. 

“I suppose you would,” she said slowly. “But you’d need to take it easy. You might have an unexpected emergency, but you’d have that chance even if you stayed in your home. If you overexert yourself you might pass out again.”

“So,” he said in between bites of salad. “You think, perhaps - that it would be ideal - if I had someone who traveled with me?”

“I think so,” she nodded. “Someone to keep an eye out for you, to call for help if you need it. Do you know someone?”

“I’m thinking of paying someone,” he said tightly. 

“Oh.”

“That doesn’t sound too terrible, does it?” he searched her face. “To pay someone to be my travel companion?”

She shrugged a little. 

“If it’s what you want...”

“They’d have a jolly good time of it, I should think,” he tried to defend the idea, though she wasn’t sure why - she hadn’t disagreed with him. “Free airline tickets, free hotel rooms, free food, _plus_ a hefty salary. No _real_ work, not really - not unless you count being around me work.”

He laughed nervously, and she smiled. 

“It sounds like an ideal job,” she said kindly. “I’m sure someone will jump at that offer.”

“I certainly hope so,” he breathed. 

He took a long drink of his water. 

“Christine,” he licked his lips. “I want you to be my travel companion.”

She choked on her fries. 

“Oh! Oh, are you okay?” he fretted and worried as she coughed. “I’m so sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to frighten you-“

She shook her head. 

“I’m fine!” she wheezed. “I’m just- surprised!”

“Let me elaborate, please, before you decide,” he was wringing his hands. 

She nodded, a hand on her chest and she tried to calm her heart fromager shock and from the little choking fit. 

“I’ve put a great deal of thought into this, Christine,” he said gravely. “I want you to come with me on my travels. You’re perfect in every way - you don’t mind my face, we get along beautifully, there’s no one better equipped to deal with any emergency than a nurse.”

He paused. 

“And you need the money,” he added quietly. 

Her brow knit. 

“Christine, I own four properties, I have eight figures in the bank. That could all be yours at the end of this.”

“Me?” she asked quietly. “You want me to-

“I don’t want anyone else to,” he said. “Just you. You’re the only one who’s ever shown me any kindness, and I want to believe that that’s out of the goodness of your heart, but even if it’s an act-“ he hesitated, pleading, “please, even if it’s an act, can’t you keep it up for another few months and come with me?”

“ _Erik_ -“

“I have been alone throughout so very much of my life, and I don’t want to be alone at the end,” he swallowed around the emotion that was threatening to choke off his voice. “And you’re the only I want there with me when it happens.” 

She put her hands over her mouth, her eyes stinging. He was offering her his very soul on a platter, and she couldn’t turn him away. And yet-

“I- I- I don’t know what to say,” she stuttered. 

His face fell, and she realized that was exactly the wrong thing to say. 

“Erik, I want to be there for you,” she said sincerely. “You mean very much to me, and I want to say yes, but-“

“But,” he echoed hollowly. 

“ _But_ I can’t just drop my entire life and run off with you...”

Or could she? 

“Why not?” he asked, hurt evident in his voice. 

“There are _considerations_ to take into account,” she told him. “My job-“

“You won’t need your job, you’ll have a new job - taking care of me. When I croak you’ll be filthy rich!”

She paused. Well, he had a point. 

“My apartment-“

“I’ll pay the rent on it for the entire time.”

She blinked. 

“My fiancé-“

“What about him?” he asked petulantly. 

She chuckled. 

“Well, He’s not going to like me going away for so long, for one.”

He waved a hand as though he were swatting at a fly. 

“Think of it as a business trip,” he dismissed. “It’s barely anything, compared to how long you’ve been together... compared to how long you both still have with each other.”

She chewed on her lip. 

“It’s- it’s a little strange, isn’t it? It’s not exactly appropriate for a woman to go traveling with a man she’s not married to, let alone not engaged to...”

“Then marry me.”

She laughed, certain he was making a joke, but his expression was serious and her laughter died as it dawned on her. 

“Erik, I-“

“I mean it, Christine,” he said, his tone serious. “I want to marry you.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Marry me?” she breathed, her brow crinkling. 

His jaw tightened as he realized what she was inferring. 

“Not like that,” he said coldly. “I wouldn’t even touch you.”

Something about the way he said it, so aloof and harsh, made her crumple up inside, as though she weren’t good enough to consider in such a manner, or that she wasn’t his type at all and was only fooling herself. It hurt, more than she thought it would. She felt a flush of shame right after the pain - after all, she didn’t _want_ him to think of her that way, did she? She was already engaged! 

“Think of it as a business deal,” he continued. “I have someone to keep me company and watch out for me as we travel, and you, after I die, will inherit everything I have. That is no small amount, Christine - you’ll never have to want for anything ever again. You won’t even have to work if you don’t want to. You can marry your boy, after. It’s not like it’ll be very long until then, anyway - six months, you saw my chart at the hospital.”

Christine stared down at her coffee, her mind swirling. Marry him? Could she? Should she? What would Raoul think? 

All of Erik’s fortune, though? 

“I could give you singing lessons, too,” he licked his lips, and she could hear the edge of desperation in his voice. “You won’t want for money, but you could still become a professional singer, if you wish it. With my instruction.”

“And you- you wouldn’t- we wouldn’t-“ she hesitated, not meeting his eye, not sure how to finish her question. 

“Separate rooms everywhere we go, Christine,” he said gently. “We’ll be no different than we were at the hospital. I won’t lay a finger on you, I swear it. I just want you there with me, in any capacity you feel comfortable with.”

She nodded. 

“I think you should think on it, Christine - it’s a very good deal, all things considered. Free travel, only one patient to look after, a mere handful of months - and then the rest of your life to do with as you please, with more money made in those six months than you’d make in six decades at your current job.”

She knew she should turn him down, knew it was a ridiculous plan, knew that at the very least she should talk it over with Raoul first, and she was about to tell him so - she needed to discuss it with her fiancé. But instead she heard her own traitorous voice saying- 

“Where would we travel?”

His eyes lit up, thinking he was close to winning. 

“We’ll see the world, Christine,” he said hopefully. “Reykjavik, Santorini, Lisbon, Rome- as much we can for as long as I can.”

Her eyes widened as he listed each place which, to someone of her salary, seemed to so far off and exotic. 

“I want to see it all,” he paused, swallowing hard before adding softly- “and I want you there by my side as I do.”

His confession felt like baring his very soul to her, and he had to look away. If she rejected him now, if she turned him down- 

“It sounds nice,” she offered, chewing on her lip. 

He stared at his hands on the table in front of him. He didn’t want _nice_ , he wanted a _yes_. 

“But I _am_ engaged,” she added timidly. 

He exhaled sharply through the nose of his mask. All he had managed to do was now make his remaining months on earth horrifically awkward and filled with regret. 

“What I mean is, I need to talk this over with Raoul.”

He finally looked up at her, finding her gaze full of compassion and understanding. He nodded slowly. 

“Yes,” he said. “I suppose you will.”

She finished her sandwich in silence, though Erik didn’t touch the rest of his food. Once done eating, she reached for her pocketbook to pay for her meal. 

“No,” Erik shook his head. “Don’t do that. Let me pay, please. It’s the least I can do to make up for this travesty of a lunch.”

“Erik,” she sighed, looking at him sadly. “It’s not like that... I wish I could give you my answer now, but I really do have to talk to Raoul first. He’s affected by this, too.”

“I think you already know your answer, Christine,” he fidgeted with his napkin before letting it drop next to his plate. “But if you need the boy to be the one to tell me to fuck off, I understand.”

She looked down, hurt. 

He slapped the money down on the table and stood to leave. She sprang up and reached for him, squeezing her hand around his arm. 

“Erik,” she nearly begged. “Please. This is- it’s a lot for me. I’m sorry. But you are my friend. I do... care for you...”

He stopped and turned towards her. 

“Do you forgive me? For asking?” he whispered. 

“Of course,” she blinked back tears. “Of course I do.”

“I shouldn’t have asked,” his voice wavered. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t say that. It’s- it’s okay. I know that this is a lot for you, too.”

He patted her hand on his arm and smiled sadly, as though he appreciated how kind she was to such a monster, a monster that couldn’t even pay a fortune for a woman to be around him even if it was his dying wish. 

“I’ll let you know, okay? We’ll talk again. This won’t be the end of it, promise,” she assured him quietly. 

“Here’s my phone number,” he murmured, writing it out on a paper napkin. “And here’s my address, if you want your boy to come over and punch me in the nose-“ he paused. “Well, nose-hole.”

He handed her the napkin. 

“If you give me a little advance warning, I can wear a fake nose so that when he punches me, it’ll fly off and scar him for life.”

He mimed a nose flying off his face and exploding, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image, even through her threatened tears. 

The little moment of humor gone, they parted with half-hearted smiles and polite words, but his request settled on her like a boulder for the rest of the day. 

He was _dying_. How could she refuse him? But she was engaged! How could she do that to Raoul? 

Raoul. Her dear friend, her one-day husband. She needed desperately to speak with him. 

The next day, she met him for lunch. She felt terribly nervous, like ants were crawling all over her. Raoul seemed carefree enough, and didn’t even notice. 

“You’ll never guess what happened to me yesterday,” she began, her teasing tone hopefully hiding how hard her heart was beating. 

“Oh?” Raoul took a big bite of his food. 

“You remember my patient I was telling you about? Erik?” 

Her mouth felt dry as she smiled nervously. He gave no response, simply chewed and stared at her. 

“He, ah,” she chuckled. “He actually asked me to _marry_ him.”

Raoul guffawed, and Christine frowned a little at his unexpected reaction. 

“Don’t laugh at him, he’s an old man and doesn’t have very long to live. He’s very lonely.”

“So?” Raoul waved a fork in the air. “If he’s lonely, let him adopt a cat or something. Isn’t that what normal lonely old people do? Not steal someone who already belongs to somebody.”

She bristled at his wording. Steal? Belong? He didn’t own her! 

“What a dumbass,” Raoul shook his head. 

“He’s not a dumbass. He’s very smart, actually. The way he explained it, it would be a business deal,” she said, a strange stiffness to her voice. “After he’s gone, I would stand to inherit quite a fortune. I could marry you afterwards. We’d both be rich.”

Raoul dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter, his face going blank. 

“Oh, Christine- don’t tell me- no! Are you actually _considering it_?” 

Her face colored. Was she? 

“What did you tell him?” he demanded. 

“I said- I said I’d- talk to you...”

Raoul ran his hands over his face in exasperation and glared at her. 

“Are you kidding me? Are you serious? Christine, what are you thinking? Or more like _not_ thinking?” 

“I _am_ thinking, Raoul. I’m thinking of my future. Of what’s going to become of me. You know how I worry about money.”

“You worry too much,” he frowned. “You know I’ll take care of you.”

“But what if something happens, Raoul? What if- what if you lose your job? What if I get sick? You can’t just say you’ll take care of me and not plan for the future!” she snapped. 

“And your idea of planning for our future _together_ is to marry someone else?” 

“Raoul, please look at this rationally! It makes good financial sense! He has millions, and properties that are worth millions more! How could we ever afford that otherwise? This is a gift, and I think we should consider it! For _us_!”

“Us? There is no us, not if you betray me like this.”

“I’m not trying to betray you! Can’t you listen to reason?”

“Reason? Reason! You call this reason?”

He was beginning to shout and she was feeling overwhelmed. 

“Don’t,” she begged. “Don’t make a scene. I wouldn’t have brought it up if I thought this was how you’d react.”

“For goodness sake, Christine - how do expect me to react when my fiancée comes to me and tells me she wants to fuck another man?”

“Keep your voice down!” she hissed. “And besides, he wouldn’t touch me like that! He promised!”

Raoul snorted. 

“Ah, yes, a promise I’m sure he’ll keep for all of _two days_.”

“Stop it,” Christine said, her eyes watering. “I’m not even attracted to him.”

“You think that’s going to stop him?” 

“He’s not like that,” she wiped at a tear, not certain why, exactly, it was there. “And I would _never_.”

She wasn’t attracted to Erik. Somehow that hurt just as much as Raoul’s insinuations of what he thought was inevitable between the two of them. 

“It doesn’t matter if _you_ would never, all that matters is once you’re married, he owns you. You’ll have to, whether you want to or not. The husband’s wants and preferences always come before what the wife thinks or prefers. Whatever he says, you have to do.”

She squeezed her shaking hands into fists under the table. 

“Is that how you view marriage, then?” she asked. 

He clenched his jaw, silent for a long moment. 

“It’s not about how I view it,” he finally said. “That’s just how marriage works.”

She let out a shaky laugh. 

“Well then, it’s a good thing we aren’t married yet.”

Raoul’s face softened. She though perhaps she’d hurt him with that, and she was surprised to find that she hoped so. 

“Do you not love me anymore, Lotte? Is that what this is?”

“I do love you, Raoul. That’s why I’m considering this. It’s only six months - how long have we already waited? This is nothing! Six months, and financial freedom, forever. I wouldn’t have to keep working at the hospital after this. You could quit at the office. We could do anything we wanted!”

“You won’t have to work at the hospital after we get married, regardless.”

“What do you mean?”

Raoul looked as though it were obvious. 

“You’ll stay home, of course.”

“Raoul, how will we afford that?”

“I’ll pick up more hours and ask for a raise.”

She picked at her cloth napkin, pulling on a loose thread. He seemed to have put a lot of thought into this. A lot of thought he’d never shared with her. 

“I’d stay home all day?”

“Of course!”

“I suppose- well, with all free time, I guess I could start singing again.”

“For fun,” Raoul supplied. 

“I’m sure being on stage would be very fun.”

Raoul have her a steady look. 

“I don’t want you singing on stage.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want my wife being gawked at on stage,” his brow furrowed. 

“I’m not being _gawked_ at, and besides, it could bring in money,” she ran a frustrated hand through her curls. 

Raoul shook his head firmly. 

“You let me worry about money. I don’t want you working after we get married.”

“It would be easier,” she grit out. “To let you worry about money if you seemingly had any idea about _how_ to worry about it.”

He shot a glare at her. 

“You think I can’t provide for you,” he stated, sullen. 

She huffed. 

“It’s not about being a provider, Raoul, it’s about being realistic - things cost money. Food costs money. Electricity costs money. Water, a roof over your head, clothing - money. You’ve never had to go without those things, you don’t know what it’s like. You don’t realize how close to ruin you can come with just one little slip up.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” he waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll be fine! We don’t need this man’s money.”

“How are we going to live on one salary, Raoul?” she pleaded, beginning to despair. “How? Tell me.”

“We’ll live just fine!” he hesitated. “We might have to live modestly, but we’ll live.”

“Modestly?” her eyes grew wide. 

“Yes, modestly,” he snapped. “I didn’t realize you were looking to live in the lap of luxury!”

She clenched her teeth so hard it hurt. 

“I’ve already lived _modestly_ ,” she spit the word out. “I lived _modestly_ when Papa and I had to stay in dirty motels because he couldn’t afford an apartment - I lived _modestly_ when we couldn’t afford to eat - I lived _modestly_ when I couldn’t afford new clothes and had to patch _rags_ to wear! I’m sick of living _modestly_! I want to live like everyone else! I don’t want to have to worry about money anymore, or have to worry about whether or not my husband has enough brain in his head to understand how fucking miserable it is to live _modestly_!”

Raoul’s eyes held a simmering fire in them now. 

“You think this Erik character is the answer to all that, then?” he asked tightly. 

“One salary split between two people certainly isn’t the answer,” she shot back. 

She didn’t even know why she was arguing so vehemently to marry Erik - she hadn’t even been certain of if she was considering it seriously until Raoul reacted so strongly to it. Something about how he was acting to her mention of it made her want to stand her ground in defense of the idea instead of simply laugh it off with him. 

He clenched his jaw and stabbed angrily at his food with no apparent purpose. 

“ _Five_ years of engagement,” he muttered. “ _Nine_ years of friendship before that. And this- this _Erik_ comes along and suddenly you- you-“

He glared harshly at his now mushed-up food, as though it were Erik on the plate and under his fork. 

She stared sullenly at him, her arms crossed. 

“Is he very handsome, then?” Raoul asked stiffly. 

Christine huffed. 

“He’s horribly disfigured, actually. He has to wear a mask because of it.”

“Oh. I suppose he must be appealing in other ways... Besides his money.”

She narrowed his eyes at him. 

“What are you implying?”

He shrugged impetuously. 

“I don’t know, Christine - what are you inferring? I’m just saying there clearly must be something he has - or _does_ \- that makes up for how ugly he is,” he took a sip of his water and then added spitefully- “Did you have something particular in mind when I mentioned it?”

She felt a hot rush of shame mingled with anger. 

“He’s nice to me,” she grit out. “Something _some_ people might not understand.”

“Nice to you? Oh, is _that_ what they call it these days?”

“Raoul, you are being ridiculous about this,” she hissed at him. “I haven’t done anything with him, he was my _patient_ , for goodness’s sake! He’s very ill and probably can’t even get it up, anyway! Do you honestly think I would do that? At my workplace?”

“Well, I would have thought you weren’t the type to fuck your patients, until today... Now I’m not so sure, anymore.”

She didn’t realize she’d done it until after it was over - she’d grabbed her drink and thrown its contents at Raoul’s face, the glass still gripped tightly in her shaking, white-knuckled hand. Raoul gaped at her with wide eyes and open mouth, unable to believe it. She fumed as stared at him, covered in ice and soda. She hadn’t realized she’d done it, but she was glad she had. 

She let the glass drop to the table with a clatter and furiously tore at the finger of her left hand, pulling off the little ring he had given her so long ago when they were both young and innocent. She hurled it at him and it bounced off of his chest and landed on his plate, right in the middle of his half-eaten food. 

“I am _never_ getting married to you!” she said shrilly. “You have no right to treat me like this, none!”

She stormed out before Raoul could even gather his wits about him. 

She wanted to scream. How dare he! How glad she was, now, that she hadn’t married him! This was exactly why she’d put it off - exactly why she’d clung to her own life so fiercely. Was she supposed to just cater to his ever jealous whim? Just quit her job that she enjoyed and was good at? How she hated him for that! 

She wiped her hands at her eyes, suddenly realizing she was crying. The most baseless and disgusting accusations from the mouth of someone she so cared about - oh, it stung. 

If he was going to be so suspicious about her, then she really might as well do what he was accusing her of. 

What he was accusing her of- 

She slowed her pace, sniffling and growing somber. 

He thought she was sleeping with Erik - or was going to. But she really didn’t want to. She didn’t think of him that way at all. For a brief moment the fear flashed through her mind that perhaps Erik thought of her that way, but she tried to remind herself that he had promised it wouldn’t be that way between them. 

Was it cruel to marry Erik out of spite for Raoul? She pushed the thought from her mind - Erik had offered it, after all, even knowing that she was engaged to someone else. He knew she would never love him as a wife loves a husband, and he seemingly didn’t mind. 

She tried to gather herself together, realizing where she was heading. She hadn’t had a particular destination in mind when she’d left, or at least she hadn’t thought so - anywhere that Raoul wasn’t, really. But now she realized she’d subconsciously headed for Erik’s flat. She still had the napkin with his address on it in her purse, an address that was surprisingly close by. 

She pulled out her compact from her purse and looked in the little mirror, pausing outside his apartment to make certain her eyes weren’t too teary before she knocked on his door. She didn’t want to have to explain the argument she’d had. With one last deep breath, she stuffed the mirror back in her purse and knocked on the door. It took him a long while to answer. 

“Christine?” he greeted her with a hint of awe, as though he hadn’t expected to see her again. 

“Hello Erik.”

“Come in, my dear, come in - if you wish,” he hastily opened the door for her, and she stepped inside. 

“Thank you.”

“Would you like anything? Can I get you something?” 

He twisted his hands together, eager to please her. She smiled. 

“No, it’s okay. I’m about to start my next shift right now, but I wanted to see you first.”

“I wanted to see you too,” he confessed, his expression turning slightly sad. “I thought about it, and I’m going to put you in my will anyway, if you’ll let me. You were the only person who didn’t flinch at my face, and you’ll never know how much that meant to me.”

“Oh, Erik-“ she smiled at him. “I, er, discussed your proposal with Raoul, and-“

She took a deep breath, knowing she was standing on the edge of no return. 

“And my answer is yes. Yes, I will marry you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Erik stared at her, trying to absorb what she had said. He ran a hand through his hair. 

“Christine- I-“ he stuttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “No, no, it was wrong of me to try to force that out of you, you’ll still inherit my money- you don’t need to do this if it repulses you-“

She shrugged a little. 

“I’m not repulsed,” she said simply. “Besides, I might get the money all the same, but this way it can be different. It’s not safe for you to travel all alone,” she lowered her eyes, “and it’s not particularly easy for a woman to travel alone... I believe you promised me singing lessons, as well. This is a big chance for me, travel and music. I want to do it.”

He cleared his throat. Was she joking with him? Was this a cruel prank? Was he on the verge of thinking he’d gotten everything he ever wanted, only for her to pull the rug out from under him?

“Are you serious?” he breathed. 

“Yes,” she smiled a little and nodded. 

“Oh, Christine!” 

He made to move forward and hug her, but she took an instinctive step backwards, and he tensed up. This was only a business deal to her, of course she didn’t want him touching her. He chided himself for thinking otherwise. 

She felt a slight pang of guilt - she hadn’t meant to evade him so, and it clearly hurt him. But she hadn’t agreed to physical contact, and he himself had said that he wouldn’t even touch her. She tried to put it from her mind. 

“And your boy is okay with this?” he asked, trying to forget what had just occurred. 

She frowned and looked away. 

“Did he not take it well, I presume?” Erik asked softly. 

“Who would take that well? His fiancée is marrying another man,” she shook her head and rubbed at where her ring used to be. “But that’s not important right now. All that matters is that I’ve made my choice. I’m going to marry you, Erik. Let’s not talk about Raoul anymore, please.”

“Of course,” he agreed quickly. “Just us, from now on.”

She put on a face that was much happier than what she was feeling inside. 

“We’ll talk some more tonight? I call you when I get off of work, we can discuss the details then.”

“I’ll be waiting for your call,” he said it with such an eager desperation that she was certain he’d do nothing _but_ wait for her call the second she stepped foot outside of his house. 

“Good. I must be going now, I’m afraid, but - tonight.”

He sent her off with thanks and well-wishes, and the conversation added itself to the enormous swirl in her mind, mingling with her last conversation with Raoul. 

If what Raoul said was right- if that’s all marriage was- 

Well, hadn’t she better get something from the deal? It was a difficult world for a woman. Why should she be faulted for her choice? Did it make her cold-hearted to turn down Raoul in favor of Erik, even though she didn’t love Erik? No, it made her _smart_. There was a word for people who stood by their man despite reasons not to, who threw their own future away and faded into nothingness so as not to overshadow him - and it wasn’t “loyal” or “faithful” or “a good wife” - it was _stupid_. 

If marriage was nothing but a cage to stifle her self expression and cut her dreams short, why shouldn’t she choose the gilded golden cage instead of the tiny rusted one? 

She managed to mostly forget about her situation as she worked, the patients and their needs taking up her attention. Raoul’s accusation came floating back to her and she frowned hard, mentally picking a few choice names to call him. But it wasn’t until her shift was over that the full weight of what she was about to do settled on her. 

Would this be her last shift? Her next to last, maybe? She’d have to tell Meg, and her boss. Was she making the right choice? It seemed like both men had wanted her to leave the hospital - but at least with Erik, she’d get to sing, even if it was just for an audience of one for a while. 

Her anxious thoughts only grew as she arrived back in her apartment. She had to call Erik now. Should she back out? Could she just ignore him and pretend she’d never said anything? No, she’d have to call him regardless, even if she did it only to turn him down. 

She sat on her bed after having changed into her house clothes and unpinned her hair. She felt sick over it. What had she done? Why had she told him she’d do this? 

She was going to give herself in marriage to a man she’d known for barely more than two weeks. She’d scorned the man she’d known for half of her life, the man she _had_ sworn her love to years ago. 

Erik had promised it would be a business deal only, but there was nothing to hold him to that after they were married. What if he raped her? He was ill, but she knew he was still capable of overpowering her. 

She swallowed hard and tried to think of the reasons she had said yes in the first place. Realistically, he wasn’t going to live forever. In the grand scheme of things, this time with him would be a mere drop in the bucket of her life, even if it was miserable. After it was all over, she would be independent - far more independent than she could ever hope to be otherwise. She’d never have to depend on anyone ever again, never need the assistance of anyone. She could do whatever she pleased whenever she pleased. She’d have the chance to train her voice with one of the most talented musical artists, and even Carrière had been elusive, he surely still had business contacts that could benefit her. 

Erik had offered, but at the end of the day, it was her choice. The minute he’d walked out of the hospital, her duty to him had ended. She owed him nothing. 

Even with all the possibilities of how it might go wrong, if it went _right_ this was a fabulous opportunity for her. 

She reached out to pick up the phone and call Erik, but right as she set her hand on it, it rang. 

“Hello?” her brow crinkled in confusion. 

“Christine.”

It was Raoul, and from the sound of him, he hadn’t stopped crying since she’d left him at the restaurant. 

“Raoul,” she breathed. 

She hadn’t expected to hear his voice again - she’d thoroughly wounded his ego and probably broken his heart, but she wasn’t about to apologize, not after what he’d said to her. 

“I’m so, so sorry for what I said, Christine,” he cried. “I never should have said any of those things. You must hate me now...”

“Oh, Raoul,” she sighed. 

“Can you ever forgive me?”

She twisted the cord in her fingers, biting her lip. 

“I don’t hate you, but I hate the things you said to me... and about me.”

Raoul sobbed on the other end. 

“I’m such a fool, Lotte. But I didn’t want that to be the last time we ever spoke. I wish I could go back in time and punch myself in the face.”

She laughed softly at the mental picture of that. 

“Please tell me you were just mad - please, are we still engaged? I can be better, I promise!”

The ghost of a smile vanished from her face. 

“Things have changed, Raoul,” she said softly, sadly. “I’m- I’m marrying Erik.”

Raoul dissolved into tears again. 

“Isn’t there anything I can do to change your mind?” he choked. 

_Go back in time and punch yourself in the face_ , she wanted to say, but didn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” she said simply. “I’ve already told him. What I told you at the restaurant still stands.”

Raoul wailed and moaned, and she held the receiver away from her ear to protect her hearing. 

When he regained functional speech, he apologized over and over. 

“I accept your apology, Raoul,” she said uncomfortably. “But that doesn’t change things. I already made plans with Erik.”

A high pitched whine emanated from the phone. 

“But...” she added slowly. 

“But?”

“But you know this isn’t forever... Erik is sick, after all. The doctor said he might only have six months left.”

“And then you’ll marry me?” He asked, full of hope. 

“Don’t ask me that tonight, Raoul. I’m still mad right now.”

“Can I- can I ask you later, then?” 

“We can talk again in a few days,” she told him. “I don’t want to leave things like this between us, either. I’ll make my arrangements with Erik, and then I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Okay,” he breathed shakily. 

She hung up and dialed Erik’s number. 

It barely rang once. 

“Christine?” he asked immediately. 

“Yeah,” she smiled shakily. 

“Oh, thank goodness - I was afraid you’d changed your mind! Er, you haven’t, have you...?”

“No,” she said. “I’m sure. I’m going to marry you.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I almost have the itinerary ready, and once I do I’ll make the travel and lodging arrangements,” he told her. “We’ll have to go to the town hall tomorrow to file for the marriage license, and the wedding planning?”

He ended the sentence with a question. She took a deep breath. 

“We can talk about wedding planning tomorrow,” she said, not wanting to think about that tonight. 

“Right. Okay. Once I have the lodging booked for certain, you’ll have to go shopping for clothes - I’ll give you one of my credit cards, it has a very height limit, I assure you! - I’ll make a list of what kinds of things you’ll need. You’ll have to think about how long you want to keep working, and when you’ll put your notice in. I’d like you to have a few days off, at least, so we can do a few things around here together.”

“Uh huh,” she agreed weakly. This was all starting to sound like quiet a lot. 

“What time can we meet tomorrow?”

She grimaced. 

“I’m... not sure. I’ll have to ask Meg if I can have an extended lunch break. It’s really going to depend. Meet me at the hospital just before my lunch break?”

“Of course.”

“Is there anything else?” 

“That’s all for now, I believe,” he told her. “As you said, we can discuss more details tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“Tomorrow,” he said kindly. “Get some sleep, Christine Daaé.”

She smiled a little. Wasn’t she supposed to be the one looking out for him? 

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

She hang up the phone and the warm feeling that had crept over her at Erik’s care towards her vanished. She felt cold. 

She went to the kitchen, her throat terribly dry, so dry that she felt like she was gagging. She poured herself a glass of water, downing it quickly. 

Married. She was going to be married. 

Her hand was shaking as she placed the glass in the sink. She’d escaped this day for over five years, and it was finally here. From now on her life was to be lived at the whim of a man. A wild, desperate urge possessed her to pick up the phone and screech at Erik that she’d changed her mind, but the urge passed, leaving only vague nausea in its wake. 

She tried to go bed but ended up tossing and turning for hours, her mind unable to turn off, constantly repeating Raoul’s words back at her. 

This was it. This was the end of everything. 

Life would never be the same after this. Would she be the same, after this? Would she even be herself? 

She rolled to her back and stared up at the ceiling. This might be one of the last times she had a bed to herself. Erik _might_ hold to his word about not touching her, but in a handful of months, Erik would be gone, and Raoul take his place as the master of her life. She could bar Erik from her bedroom, but she couldn’t bar Raoul. 

_Once you’re married, he owns you._

But she didn’t want to be owned. She was her own person, with her own thoughts and opinions and her own tastes and interests - she never wanted to be secondary to someone else, a mere subsidiary of her husband, relegated to a lesser role, nothing more than a _wife_. 

Even if it was to someone as sweet as Raoul. Even if it was to someone as rich as Erik. 

She sniffled, tears rolling down her cheeks before she even realized it. She wasn’t marrying Erik, she decided it firmly in her mind - no, they weren’t getting married. They were entering into a business contract, just like he’d said. If that’s how she had to think of it, that’s how it would be. She’d complete this contract with Erik, and after that- 

She didn’t know. She would think about that when she got there. 

But in the meantime, she vowed to hold on to herself, to not lose her identity when she lost her last name. She was more than someone’s wife, and she would not be stifled or stunted. 

Marrying Erik? That was just a job to her. Not more than half a year, most likely, and then the biggest paycheck possible. She should count herself fortunate, she supposed. 

She felt resigned to her fate when she awoke the next morning, silently going through her usual routine. Before she left, she pulled her birth certificate out from the shoebox of important documents she kept under her bed, frowning down at it. Her birth certificate, needed to obtain a marriage license, but to her it felt more like a death certificate. 

When she arrived at the hospital, she knew she had to bring it up with Meg, but she wasn’t sure how. 

“Morning, Christine,” Meg said, chipper and bright-eyes as always. 

“Meg, I need to ask for an extended lunch break today,” she said anxiously. 

“Oh? Why?”

She worried at her lip. 

“I have something I need to do...” 

Meg raised an eyebrow. 

“Like?”

“I have to go to the town hall,” she muttered, looking away. 

“Ooo, Chris _tine_ , did you get a speeding ticket?”

“No,” she paused then took a deep breath. “I’m getting a marriage license.”

“Aw, congrats! Oh my gosh! Are you and Raoul finally tying the knot?”

“N-no.”

Meg’s face fell as she tried to make sense of it. 

“Please just let me have an extended lunch today,” her face flushed and she squeezed her hands into fists. 

“Okay,” Meg said slowly. “But we gotta talk later, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you,” she gave her an appreciative look as she started her rounds. 

She worked as hard as she could, but lunch came quicker than she would have liked. She left with a solemn nod to Meg, who returned the gesture. 

Erik was waiting for her just outside. He brightened considerably when he saw her, grinning widely. He waved a little awkwardly. 

“I have a taxi waiting for us in the parking lot,” he said as soon as she was close enough. “We should get to the town hall as soon as possible, hopefully there won’t be a line.”

He ushered her towards the taxi, opening her door for her. She felt awkward, both as he closed the door after her and as he jogged around to the other side of the car to sit next to her. 

He was dressed sharply again, his hair slightly disheveled from, she assumed, nervously running his fingers through it as he was waiting for her. She let her eyes dart over him in the close confines of the backseat. She was so used to how she had thought of him in the hospital that it was still a shock to see him this way - if she hadn’t known, she wouldn’t have guessed he was ill at all. He looked... _virile_. Cunning. Dangerous. In the hospital it had felt almost like taking care of her father, but seeing Erik out in the world reminded her that he was very much _not_ her father. 

“How was work?” he asked, his eyes roving over her with a tender gaze. 

She unconsciously crossed her ankles tighter and shrank away from him slightly. His very presence was nearly overpowering in the close quarters of the car, but that voice- 

This was the voice she’d come to enjoy so well, the voice that always made her smile at work, the voice she trusted with nearly every part of her - and the voice of the man who had inspired her very soul through vinyl and cassette while her father was sick and dying. 

A little of the tension went from her shoulders. 

“It went okay,” she told him. 

“Just okay? Nothing exciting?”

“Nothing exciting happens now that you aren’t there to cause a scene,” she teased, having to look out her window to hide the faint blush on her cheeks. 

He laughed warmly. 

They arrived at the town hall soon enough, but there was a line they had to wait in. Christine looked at her watch nervously. 

“What’s wrong?” Erik murmured. 

“I’m just worried about work, I suppose.”

“What are they going to do? _Fire_ you?” 

The sarcasm in his voice was dripping. She glared at up him, and it took all of her willpower to keep a straight face. 

“The line will move quickly, I’m certain,” he assured her, his tone a little kinder now. “I finalized a travel plan, I want to you to see what you think.”

He pulled a paper of his pocket and handed it to her. 

_Rome, Santorini, Scotland, Madrid, Reykjavik, Lisbon_

“A week here after you take off from the hospital,” he explained. “Then two weeks at each destination. I figure that’ll give us enough time to factor in any unexpected delays here or there. Lisbon has beautiful beaches, I hear - I’d like to be there when-“

He paused, a look of panic briefly overcoming him. 

“I’d like to be at the beach at the end,” his voice wavered just slightly. 

She nodded. 

“That sounds good,” she said softly. “The beach is good.”

“I know the doctor said six months,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide the tremble. “But- it could be shorter, too, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps,” she conceded, looking at him with regret. 

“I want to see all of those places,” he said. “I don’t want to have to miss any of them because I waited too long. So I thought... better to get to them quickly, you know?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged. 

“I figure if we get to Lisbon and I still feel fine, we can start the whole trip over again,” he laughed nervously. 

She smiled weakly. 

“But...” he trailed off. “A few months at the beach wouldn’t be so bad. I’ll- well, I’ll probably be rather tired a few months from now, anyway, won’t I?”

She looked down at her feet. 

“Yes. You’ll get more fatigued more easily. You might not feel like traveling right up until you-“ she stopped herself. “It’ll be good, I think, to rest a while.”

“Do you like the destinations?” he asked anxiously, changing the subject. 

“Sure.”

“No, I mean it,” he frowned a little. “Do you think they sound good?”

“It’s your trip, Erik,” she reminded him. “They should be your destinations.”

He looked away. 

“It’s not fun to me if you’re not having fun, Christine.”

She blinked, puzzled, then looked at the list again. 

“They look good,” she said sincerely. 

“Good,” he breathed. 

It was their turn at the counter. 

Erik explained what they needed, and offered the man behind the counter their necessary papers. Christine looked curiously at Erik’s birth certificate, tilting her head to read it - it said Charles Carrière was born fifty-five years ago in France. Erik glanced at her, and she caught his eye before looking away, futilely pretending she hadn’t been looking at his papers. 

The man gave them some forms to fill out, and Christine dutifully filled out what she had to. Her hand trembled a little as she signed her name at the bottom, wondering if this was the last time she’d write _Daaé_. 

“How long will it take to get the license?” Erik asked. 

“Four week’s minimum,” the man replied. 

Erik’s face fell, and Christine watched him with concern, putting a gentle hand on his arm. 

Four weeks. One month. One month they couldn’t go traveling, one month less to see what he wanted to see and do what he wanted to do. 

He cleared his throat. 

“You don’t think there’s any way to expedited that, do you?”

The man shook his head. 

“Four weeks.”

Erik ran a hand through his hair. 

“That’s rather unfortunate,” he chuckled darkly. “I was _hoping_ -“ he pulled his wallet out of his pocket- “-that perhaps there was some way to _speed things along_ , as it were.”

Christine’s eyes widened as he opened his wallet and nonchalantly shuffled through a few cards, discreetly flashing some banknotes to the man. 

“I’m in a bit of pickle, you see,” Erik continued suavely. “And I was truly hoping to have it much sooner than four weeks from now.”

“It might be possible,” the man said slowly, his eyes trained on the bills. 

Erik pulled out a few more bills. The man quickly took them and greedily stuffed them in his pocket. 

“I’ll see what I can do, Monsieur,” he bowed slightly and left. 

Christine felt her face burning with embarrassment and shame. Erik was _bribing_ a government worker right in front of everyone, and he seemed so brazen about it, so calm! Like he’d done this before!

“What?” he asked her, feeling her piercing gaze on him. 

She pressed her lips together. 

“What?” his brow furrowed under his mask, like he truly didn’t understand that he was doing something illegal. 

She turned away, eyebrows raised. Perhaps she could pretend she wasn’t a part of this. 

The man came back with a marriage license.

“Congratulations to the happy couple,” he said politely, bowing again as he gave them the paper. 

Christine’s jaw dropped. Erik looked giddy, like a child in a candy store. 

When they were out of earshot of the clerk, Erik muttered under his breath- 

“ _Congratulations to the happy couple-_ congratulations to his pocketbook, that’s what.”

But he was still grinning when he turned to Christine, showing her the license. 

“That could be you one day, my dear!” he told her cheerfully, ignoring how she looked at him. “Soon you’ll have enough money to do anything you want!”

“Oh.”

Bribing people felt so strange, she didn’t think she’d ever do that... 

But, when she thought about it, she could envision a future where she, an incredibly wealthy widow, came back to Raoul and offered to allow him to marry her... On the condition that he quit his job and stay home while she pursued a career in singing. She smiled at the deliciously spiteful thought of it. 

“So,” he said, fidgeting with his tie. “Wedding planning?”

Her smile disappeared. 

“The wedding is for you, Erik. What would you like?”

“The wedding is usually for the bride.”

“Not when the bride will be having another wedding but the groom won’t,” she reminded him in a small voice. 

He looked out into the distance as they stood in front of the town hall, considering. 

“It should be small,” he said at last. “I don’t have anyone to invite. Do you have any particular guests in mind?”

“I think- what if it was just us?”

She felt slimy to think it, but she didn’t want anyone to see her marry Erik. She wasn’t ashamed of him, it wasn’t his face, or even his age - but it wasn’t an event she particularly wanted anyone to witness. She hadn’t want a crowd of people around her when she’d signed her admission papers to college, or when she’d signed her contract for her job at the hospital, and this felt no different to her. No one needed to know. 

“Just you and me, then?” he tilted his head. 

She nodded. 

“In a church?” he offered. 

“Civil ceremony,” she said quickly. She’d get married in a church when she married Raoul. 

“Okay,” he replied easily enough. “Nothing fancy, then?”

She ducked her head and blinked hard. 

“Are you okay with that?” she asked, her voice trembling. She was suddenly feeling very guilty about wanting to not make a big deal over their marriage. 

He was quiet a moment. 

“It’s not really a wedding,” he said quietly. “But then again, it’s not really a marriage. You don’t have to cry, Christine, it’s all right. I know this isn’t like that for you. The important part isn’t that we have a fancy wedding, or any wedding at all. This is something that will make it easier for you to inherit everything, and the most important part to me is simply that you’ll be there with me.”

“Really?” she sniffled, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. 

“Really,” he assured her, nearly placing a hand on her shoulder but refraining. “To have you there with me, especially at the end... I couldn’t ask for more, Christine.”

Somehow his kindness only made her guilt worse. She nodded, not trusting her voice. 

“Now,” he said, smiling. “Let’s get you back to your workplace, my dear.”

The ride back was mostly quiet, but halfway there Erik started to fidget again. 

“Are you okay?” she whispered, concerned he was having symptoms. 

“Christine,” he started. “I- I know I said that it would only be business between us, but-“

“But what?” she asked gently. “It’s okay, you can ask.”

He took a deep breath, not able to meet her eye. 

“I would like to buy you a ring,” he said finally, fidgeting with the black stoned ring on his on own finger. 

“Um,” she didn’t know what to say. 

“You can say no if it makes you uncomfortable,” he rushed to say. “I don’t- I don’t expect it to mean anything to you, and I _know_ the marriage doesn’t mean anything, but- I would like to buy you a ring, all the same. If you’ll let me?”

He looked at her so hopefully. It damn near broke her heart. 

“You can buy me a ring,” she told him. 

He breathed a sigh of relief, the tension leaving him. 

“I can?” he asked, disbelieving. 

“Yeah.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday, you have the weekend off, yes?”

“Yeah,” she started to fidget now. 

“Can we go ring shopping tomorrow? And get married on Sunday?”

Things were starting to move too fast for her. 

When she had been younger she’d gone with Raoul to a fair, and he’d coaxed her into going on the roller coaster with him despite her fear of heights. She had the same feeling in her stomach now as she had right before the coaster dropped and she’d thought her head would explode from fear. 

“Okay,” she managed, her mouth dry. 

She was at the top of the coaster, and on Sunday she was going to fall to a depth she’d never been before, hurtling towards an unknown that she didn’t want to discover.


	7. Chapter 7

“Are you okay?” Erik asked. 

“I’m fine,” she unbuckled her seat belt and reached to open her door as soon as the taxi pulled up in front of the hospital. 

Erik, realizing she was about to get out without any delay, jumped from his seat and rushed out his door, trying to get to her side so he could open the car door for her, but arrived slightly too late. 

She paused in the middle of getting out, surprised by the disappointment that he was clearly feeling. 

“I can open my own door, Erik,” she said, embarrassed. 

“I know,” he frowned. “But I wanted to do that for you.”

“I-“ she was at a loss. “I can- get back in the car, if you want?”

He laughed. 

“Christine, you are a wonder,” he shook his head. “Enjoy the rest of your day, my dear. I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Where do you live?”

She pulled a pen out of her purse and wrote her address on the paper Erik had written their travel plan on. 

“I’ll see you in the morning then,” she told him, and smiled as best she could. 

It was easy to mask her feelings with Raoul when she needed to, but she was realizing it was a more difficult task with Erik - the man could read her like a book, and it unsettled her, especially when she had things she’d rather keep from him. 

It was nearing the end of her shift that something occurred to her. She tried to brush it off, but in the end, prudence won out. Better safe than sorry, after all. 

“Meg,” she asked sheepishly. “Can I- can I get off fifteen minutes early?”

Meg narrowed her eyes at her. 

“You’re lucky we’ve been friends before I became supervisor,” she teased. “Tell me what it’s for, though?”

Christine squirmed. 

“I need to speak to Mamma Valerius,” she said quietly. 

“Yeah, that’s fine, then,” Meg told her. “But can you wait for me after you’re done? I want us to go out tonight so we can talk.”

“Of course! Thank you so much!” 

Christine hugged her and set off for Mamma Valerius’s office. 

She smiled a little as she approached the door to said office. Colette Valerius was the only woman who practiced medicine under the title of _doctor_ at Rouen General Hospital, and she was particularly close with all of the nurses, caring for them and looking out for them as if they were her daughters - a trait of hers that had earned her the loving nickname of ‘Mamma’ among many of the younger nurses. She’d been at Rouen General for almost two decades, and she was a formidable woman - but she also had a sweetness that was unparalleled. 

Christine knocked on her door, desperately hoping she was there. 

“Come in,” called a voice. 

“Hi, Mamma,” Christine said as she entered. “I needed to talk to you about something, if you have a minute.”

“I always have a minute for you, Christine,” the older woman smiled brightly. “What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping you could write me a prescription...” 

“For what?” 

Christine’s face colored, and mentally chided herself. She cleared her throat. 

“Well, you see, I’m getting married,” she started. 

“Oh, congratulations!”

“Thank you - so I’m getting married, but, ah- well, my husband - my _future_ husband - and I are planning to travel extensively for, um, nearly a year...”

Christine closed her eyes. She was a medical professional, why couldn’t she say it? 

“And I was thinking - he and I were _both_ thinking, that is, that we don’t want any-“ she paused, a brief look of minor horror pausing over face. 

“Any?” Valerius looked slightly confused. 

“ _Anything_ that might keep us from continuing to travel... for a year... while we’re _married_ ,” she gave Valerius a knowing look, nodding slowly. “Do you have a _prescription_ that I can take after I get _married_ that might help me?”

“Oh! Say no more, my dear, I know exactly what you mean,” she said kindly. “I’ll get it written up for you right now.”

Christine felt a huge weight come off of her shoulders. She might still want to marry Raoul after Erik, but she wasn’t so sure Raoul would marry her if she came back and was carrying Erik’s baby. Erik _had_ promised he wouldn’t touch her, but at the end of the day, he was a man and she was his wife and it was not outside the realm of possibility that he would change his mind. She trusted that he would keep his word... But she wasn’t stupid. 

She took the signed paper to the pharmacy on the first floor, hoping her luck would hold out and Lucy would be working today. 

Her luck ran out. It was Bennett. 

“I need this prescription filled,” she avoided his eye as she handed him the paper. 

He stared at it a moment, brow furrowing. 

“Is this for you?” he asked, his gaze falling to her hand - her bare, ringless hand, now that she’d thrown Raoul’s ring back in his face. 

She clenched her fist, moving her hand out of his sight. 

“Just fill the prescription, Bennett,” she grit out. 

He left to fill it with a smirk. 

He returned several minutes later, that same infuriating smirk still in place, one she wanted to slap off him. He held the paper bag out to her. 

“ _Enjoy_ ,” he told her, raising an eyebrow. 

She grabbed the bag from him and promptly left the pharmacy, secretly fuming. 

Perhaps, she realized, Erik had been right in wanting to buy her a ring, and she was glad she’d agreed to let him do so if for no other reason than to avoid people’s presumptions about her while she was traveling with Erik. 

Paper bag tucked safely in her purse, she waited for Meg in the locker room. 

“Do you want to go out tonight?” Meg asked when arrived. 

“Could we maybe just go to my place?” Christine said. 

“Yeah, of course.”

The women spoke of trivial subjects on their way to Christine’s apartment, but once the door was closed, Meg turned serious. 

“Okay, what’s the deal?” she asked hands on her hips. 

Christine had to chuckle - Meg looked ready to fight anyone to protect Christine. She flopped into the couch, and Meg came and joined her. 

“So. I’m getting married,” Christine started softly. 

“To?” Meg prompted. 

“Erik,” she sighed. 

Meg’s face went blank. 

“Christine, please tell me you know another Erik who’s different than the Erik that was at the hospital.”

Christine made a little whining noise and covered her face with her hands. 

“No, it’s him!”

“Christine! Seriously?”

“Yes... Do I think I’m terrible?”

Meg frowned. 

“You’re never terrible. I just- don’t quite get why. What happened to Raoul?”

“Raoul has- well, he- it’s very complicated,” Christine fiddled with her fingers. 

“Honestly,” Meg snickered a little. “I kinda thought you’d never marry him, anyway. But _Erik_? What’s the- the _appeal?_ ”

“Okay, you’re going to think I’m terrible again,” Christine took a deep breath. “He’s rich. He’s very, very rich. He’s I’ll-never-have-to-work-a-day-in-my-life rich. And he’s dying. And he asked. And I- I just thought-“

Meg listened to her. 

“You know I love Raoul,” Christine insisted. “But he’s... not smart.”

“That’s a way to put it, yes.”

“I worry _a lot_ about our future together. But if I had money - if _we_ had money-“ she shrugged a little, trying to find the right words. 

“If you had enough money, he could be as stupid as he wants?” Meg offered. 

Christine pressed her lips together but didn’t contradict her. 

“Is he really okay with that?” 

“That’s where it gets weird,” she whispered. “I actually broke up with him. I don’t know how to feel about it - he said some pretty awful things to me. I’m still kinda mad.”

“Okay, but _Erik_? I mean- he could be a serial killer! He could be about to kidnap you and hold you prisoner or something!”

“Oh, Meg, you’re being silly! He’s not like that!”

Meg raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay, he’s not like that _to me_ ,” she amended with an eye roll. 

“It’s only six months,” she added with a sigh. “He wants to travel, and I’ll go with him, and then- I’ll never have to worry about money again. Can you imagine that kind of freedom?”

Meg thought about it a long while. 

“It’s your life, Christine,” she said finally. “I don’t know exactly what to think about all this, but- if you marry Erik, will that make you happy? Happier than marrying Raoul? Is that what you want out of life?”

Christine frowned as she considered. 

“Yes,” she said finally. “All I want is freedom. Erik can do that for me. Raoul- Raoul is sweet, but I can’t spend my life scrimping and saving and just barely getting by - not anymore. Not after growing up like that.”

“I support you,” Meg said. “I don’t fully get it, but I love you and want you to be happy. If Uggo McBastard does it for you, I say get it, girl!”

“Ugh, Meg, no!” she groaned. “It’s not like that!”

Christine stood up suddenly. 

“You know what this conversation needs?” she said, heading towards the kitchen. “Wine.”

She brought out two glasses and a large bottle of red wine, pouring some out for each of them. 

They spent the rest of the evening drinking and discussing her odd new arrangement. 

“I gotta give you a key to my ‘partment,” Christine squinted as she poured the last of the wine into Meg’s glass. “If I come back and find out you let my plants die, I’m gonna be _pissed_.”

Meg only giggled, trying to not drop her glass. 

“You sure about that key?”

Christine gasped, then pointed a finger at her. 

“No boys! Meg - no boys in my apartment!”

“How will you know?” Meg laughed. 

“Oh, I’ll know!”

When the world got a little too fuzzy around the edges, Christine tucked a blanket around a half-asleep Meg on the couch before retiring to her own bed. 

They both awoke somber and sober the next morning. 

“Are you really sure about this?” Meg asked once more. 

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“You don’t even know him, not really... He could be in the mafia or something!”

She chuckled. 

“I doubt it.”

After a quick breakfast she walked Meg to the door. They were both surprised to see Erik already standing outside her door. 

“Erik!” she squeaked, her hand going over her heart. 

Meg turned pale, glancing between them. 

Erik, too, looked surprised to see Meg there. 

“Am I- interrupting something?” he asked, a little concerned. 

“No! No, Meg was just leaving,” Christine assured him. 

“Are you sure?” Meg whispered to her. 

Christine nodded, and Meg curtsied awkwardly to Erik, only to, once she was out of his line of sight, mouth the word _mafia_ to Christine before leaving. Christine couldn’t help her smile at Meg’s absurd theory and how she scurried away from him. 

“Do- do you want to come in?”she asked, chuckling. 

“What’s funny?” he murmured as he stepped inside. 

“Oh! Meg just has this funny idea,” she shook her head. 

“What is it?” 

He waited for her to point him to the couch before he sat down. 

“She thinks, ah, that you’re in the mafia! Isn’t that funny?”

But Erik didn’t laugh. 

“How did she figure that one out?” he asked calmly. 

The smile faded from her face. 

“What?” she said. 

He was joking - surely he was joking. He loved making jokes and often told them with a straight face. 

“You’re joking,” she said. 

But he kept looking at her as though he thought she were going to answer him seriously. 

“You- you’re in the mafia?” 

“Were,” he corrected her easily, glancing away. 

“You _were_ in the mafia?” her brow knit as she repeated the words. 

He smiled at how concerned she looked. 

“It was a long time ago,” he said, his tone kind. “Your little friend is quite the perceptive one, I must say.”

She stared at him, wanting to believe he was still joking. What had she gotten herself into? 

He chuckled a little at how she looked. 

“Come now, Christine, it was _ages_ ago, I haven’t been involved in that sort of thing for decades. It’s not like anyone is going to show up and try to ‘whack’ you, you know.”

She shook her head as though to clear her thoughts, and began to finish getting ready for the day. She tried to forget the little conversation that had just taken place. He was having a laugh at her, she was certain. 

“How long were you on my doorstep?” she called out to him from her bathroom, swiping mascara over her lashes as she stared in the mirror. 

“Not very long,” he replied, and she huffed at his vague answer. 

Her hair pinned back and a minimal amount of makeup on, she reluctantly left the bathroom, ready to go ring shopping with Erik. 

“You look beautiful,” he breathed when she entered the living room. 

“Did you eat this morning?” she asked, changing the subject. 

He waved a dismissive hand. 

“Of course, earlier.”

“What did you eat?” 

His face went blank. 

“Something... low sodium?” 

She stifled a sigh, heading to the kitchen. After a moment she returned to find him anxiously eyeing the tall glass she was holding in her hand. 

“We aren’t leaving until you drink this,” she told him, handing it to him. 

“What is it?” he asked, suspicious. 

“It’s a smoothie, Erik - now drink it.”

He took a sip of it and tried to hand it back to her. 

“The whole thing,” she reminded him. 

He narrowed his eyes at her and continued drinking it. She shook her head. 

“Really,” she said. “You act like I’m trying to poison you. Do you really think I would do that?”

She paused, before adding- “Especially before you change your will to include me?”

He choked on the smoothie, and once she was certain he wasn’t in danger of continuing to choke, she smiled. 

“I’m glad to see my morbid humor has already rubbed off on you, my dear,” he handed her back the now-empty glass. “In a month or two, just imagine how positively morbid we shall be... Think of all the normal people we could scare.”

She giggled as she placed the glass in the sink. For as much as her current situation was weighing on her, it felt wonderful to know that she could tease such a powerful man and that he would take it in good humor. The last part of his words, his reference to _normal people_ was lost on her in a way that Raoul’s mention of _normal people_ had not been. Of course she and Erik were the same kind of person, and her mind didn’t take much notice of his choice of words. 

“Don’t you feel better now?” she asked as she came out of the kitchen. 

He sighed. 

“I do suppose a smoothie is a small price to pay to see you smile,” he conceded, and she blushed. 

They left the apartment together and as they walked to the jewelry store several streets over, she began to feel nervous again. 

By the time they entered the store, her shyness was back in full force, and she was incredibly glad that Erik, at least, seemed to become chatty in order to compensate. 

He asked the salesman to see the engagement rings, and Christine merely ducked her head and blushed at the man’s heart congratulations. If her smile didn’t reach her eyes, only Erik noticed. 

He pointed out a display case with numerous styles of rings, and Christine busied herself with furrowing her brow at each one as she studied them. 

“How did you two meet?” 

Christine froze, but Erik piped up right away. 

“At the opera,” he said, smiling. “She’s an opera singer, you see, and I fell in love with her the moment I heard her on stage.”

“How romantic!”

“Oh, very. I found her right after she got offstage and asked her to marry me on the spot, but of course she refused!” he laughed. “But she agreed to go out with me, and six months later I asked again and she said yes.”

Christine shot him a puzzled glance, uncertain to both how he was coming up with all this and also as to why he’d be rejected in his own fantasy. 

“The rest is history,” he smiled fondly at her, and she had to look away. It felt too real. 

“What a beautiful story,” the salesman said. 

“Do you see one you’d like to try on?” Erik asked her. 

She bit her lip. They were all lovely, in a way, but she couldn’t help seeing them all as a sign of impending domestic servitude. How was she supposed to pick something like that? 

“The oval one is pretty,” she said weakly, and the salesman pulled it out for her to try, sizing it first. 

She looked down at it on her hand as it sparkled and winked up at her, and she tried to smile, but she only looked like she was going to cry. 

“Sir, could we have a moment?” Erik asked him. 

He quickly left the couple alone, and Erik leaned in to her. 

“Do you not like it? Do you want to try a different one?” he searched her face. “How about this square one?”

“Square is what Raoul bought me,” her voice wavered. “I’m sorry, Erik, I don’t know what’s come over me-“

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief for her. She took it gratefully and dabbed at her eyes. 

“You don’t like any of them,” he said. 

It wasn’t phrased as a question, but her silence still answered it. 

“It’s not a wedding ring, Christine,” he sighed. “It doesn’t mean anything, it’s okay. You don’t have to pick the prettiest one if none of them are pretty, just- just pick the least hateful one.”

She nodded. The ring on her finger had a certain charm, she supposed. It was different enough from what she’d had before that she wouldn’t always think of Raoul when she looked at it, but it also wasn’t the standard style ring that most wives had. 

She felt slightly guilty that it was so big - it was twice the size of the diamond Raoul had gotten for her. In the back of her mind she knew that if Raoul had had Erik’s kind of money, he would have bought her a huge diamond, too. 

He’d done the best he could for her, and she’d thrown it in his face. 

“The oval one,” she whispered. “This one.”

He waved the salesman over. 

“Christine,” he whispered gently to her. “Why don’t you go look at the bracelets? You might see something that catches your eye.”

At his direction she went to look at the bracelets while Erik and the salesman talked price. 

After it was paid for and boxed up, he came to look at the bracelets with her. 

“Do you see anything?”

She shook her head and shrugged. 

“I don’t think so. Just the ring.”

He thanked the salesman and they left. 

“Christine,” he asked urgently once they were outside. “Can I-?”

He held up the ringbox and gestured to her hand. 

“Oh... If you want,” she told him, and held her hand out. 

She didn’t expect to him drop to one knee in front of her, touching her hand as though it were the most precious, fragile thing in the world. He slipped the ring on her finger, but she hardly noticed it at first, too concerned for his poor knee on the hard sidewalk and what a strain it must be on his joints to kneel like that - she knew he had a nearly constant painful arthritis. 

He stayed there a moment longer, looking up at her with all the love in the world, running his thumb over her knuckles, and she wasn’t certain if he was still kneeling because he was overcome with emotion or because he knew it was going to be an embarrassing struggle to stand up again. 

She glanced down at the ring, unable to bear his love anymore, and her blood ran cold. 

This wasn’t the ring she had picked in the store. 

“Erik-“

This ring was nearly five times bigger than the already huge diamond she’d tried on. He must have sent her away in the store so that he could get the salesman to switch it to a bigger diamond in the same style. 

“Erik!”

Blood was pounding in her head. What had he done? 

He patted her hand and scrambled to stand up. 

“It’s all right, my dear - it didn’t even put a dent in your inheritance,” he assured her. 

“It’s- it’s too much!”

She was embarrassed to wear it. She glanced around the street, worried people were staring. 

“You truly don’t like it?” his face fell a little. 

She squirmed, looking at it again. 

“It’s _enormous_ ,” she whined. “Why did you do that?”

“Christine I don’t understand?”

She looked up at him, despairing. 

“This is a ring a movie star would wear, or a princess - I don’t need something like this!”

He tilted his head. Under her protests was the implication that she didn’t _deserve_ a ring like that, and he heard it. 

“No,” he agreed. “You don’t need a ring like that. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a ring like that. Why shouldn’t you have a ring fit for a princess?”

“I’m not a princess,” she looked away again. 

He smiled but didn’t say the words she almost feared he would, though from the corner of her eye she could tell he was thinking them - she was a princess, to him. 

“That’s no matter, my dear,” he said instead. “It’s the ring I wanted to buy you, the ring I think you deserve... the ring I want to see on your finger every day. Surely it can’t be as bad as all that?”

She looked at it again. It really was a very beautiful ring. She bit her lip. 

“Thank you, Erik,” she breathed. 

They walked down the sidewalk together, back towards her apartment. 

“I know I’ve imposed horribly on you, Christine,” he said quietly. “I know that this is- _distressing_ to you, as well. I certainly don’t mean any ill by it, but I’m afraid I must make yet another request of you.”

“Oh?”

“I assure you just as strongly as ever that this is a mere business arrangement, and when I ask this please don’t assume any hidden meaning behind my words, but Christine-“

He stopped walking, looking her up and down. 

“At our wedding tomorrow, would you-“ he lowered his already low voice, a tinge of desperation creeping in around the edges. “Would you object very much to wearing white?”

She pressed her lips together. It was hard not to read into it when he was blushing so hard that his neck had turned red too. 

“I suppose I could,” was all she would say. 

He took it as answer enough, and they continued to her apartment. 

She invited him in again, making him rest on the couch and while she got him a glass of water. 

She joined him on the couch and they discussed the rest of their plans. 

“I’ll tell the hospital on Monday,” she said quietly. “I’ll let you know how quickly I can get off.”

“I’ll make the travel arrangements once I know.”

“Okay. I’ll go shopping as soon as I get my next day off, whenever that is,” she fidgeted with her new ring. 

“That reminds me-“ he reached into his pocket for his wallet, pulling out a credit card and handing it to her. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, still not certain how she felt about buying apparently an entire new wardrobe on her husband’s credit card. 

She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“Do you-“ she hesitated and cleared her throat. “Do you want to, _ah_ , approve the purchases?”

His eyes held a brief, greedy glint. Christine felt sweaty thinking about it - taking Erik with her to shop for clothing that he might want her to model for him first. 

“No,” he said at last. “That’s okay. You pick what you like best. I’m not so concerned with how you look as making certain your outfits are appropriate for the climates we’re visiting. Here, I have a list-“

He fished in his jacket pocket and handed her a long list. 

She read through it silently. It had very many suggestions, ranging from both long and short sleeved blouses to various types of pants and skirts. Towards the end of the list it began to detail accessories, such as a sun hat and warm winter hat and a bathing suit and wool socks. And there, at the bottom of the list, in hastily scrawled letters, was the word _unmentionables_.

Her face turned red. 

“Erik,” she said evenly. “They are no longer _unmentionables_ if you _mention_ them.”

Erik became flustered. 

“I didn’t _mean_ anything by it!” he insisted. “I just didn’t want you to forget!”

“Forget?”

“Well they’re important articles of clothing, Christine! I couldn’t just leave them off the list!”

“I’m not going to forget underwear, Erik - I’ve been dressing myself for a very long time, and I rarely forget,” she said dryly. 

Erik looked like he wanted to die from embarrassment. 

“It’s not like I wanted to _see_ them!” he tried to defend himself but only got more embarrassed. 

Absurdity won out and Christine started laughing. 

Erik got up and began to pace, running his hands through his hair. 

“It’s not like that! It’s not! It’s not!”

“Erik!” she laughed. “Erik, please, calm down! It’s not good to get that worked up!”

Erik sighed wearily and sank onto the couch, sitting as far away from her possible and not daring to look at her. 

“It’s all right,” she snickered, covering her mouth with her hands. “Are you okay?”

“I will never be okay again,” he declared loudly, still unable to meet her eye. 

It renewed her giggles, even though she knew it was terrible of her. The man could scarcely say the word _underwear_ without blushing beet red, and she found it adorable.

“What else are you doing today?” she asked once she’d managed to control her laugh. 

“Paperwork,” he sighed. “I have a lot to- well, to get in order.”

She grew a little more serious. 

“Oh. Well... I suppose I can start clothes shopping, then. What about tomorrow?”

“I’ll meet you at the courthouse, I think?”

“Okay. That works. And- after?”

He was quiet a long moment. 

“Could we have lunch? Together? Or did you have other plans?”

“I don’t have any other plans.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you there, then.”

He took his leave of her for the day, and she decided to set out on her shopping trip, Erik’s embarrassing - yet very thorough - list in hand. 

She still wasn’t certain how she felt about the whole situation, but as she shopped and tried on outfit after outfit, she began to feel as though she now had the chance to reinvent herself. She couldn’t help but glance at the price of each piece, even though she knew Erik didn’t care. It was a hard habit to break, after a lifetime of it being a necessity. She still felt a heavy cloud of guilt settle on her each time as she swiped the credit card to pay, her heart beating just a little faster. 

It was sunset when she was finally finished shopping. She rode in a taxi back to her apartment, surrounded by bags and boxes containing her new life. The sky was turning purple and cobalt, and she looked wistfully out the dirty window at it, wondering if Erik had finished straightening out his papers and affairs. 

At her bedside that night, she held her hand under her little nightstand lamp and examined the giant diamond. 

She’d never seen anything sparkle so brilliantly. 

“Shit,” she muttered. 

Maybe she’d get used to wearing it one day. It was heavy. She could only imagine what it would be like to punch a man while wearing it. She’d probably break her own finger, but the stone would leave quite a dent in him, too. 

She wanted to wear it while she was sleeping, just for the glamour of such an act, but common sense won out and she left it next to her alarm clock. 

She woke up the next morning and had a single moment of peace before she remembered it was her wedding day and an unnamed emotion seized her around the heart. 

She put on a little extra makeup, thinking that perhaps Erik might appreciate it if she did so, but she skipped any sort of lip color. She dressed in her new white dress that she’d bought yesterday, her wedding dress. With clean lines and an understated style, it could be taken by almost anyone else as just a regular dress - anyone except herself and Erik, who both knew better. 

The ceremony was at noon, but she felt too antsy with her extra time at the apartment. She slipped on her new white kitten heeled shoes before stepping out the door. Maybe she would go see Erik and talk to him for a bit, just to distract her mind. 

But as she was locking her door and began to leave the building, she ran into Raoul. They both stood there a long moment, too surprised for words. 

He looked hopeful, and repentant. In his hands he was holding his engagement ring - her engagement ring, the one he’d given her. His eyes fell to her left hand and they widened in shock to see the new, much larger ring there. He hung his head, putting the other ring in his pocket. 

“Raoul,” she frowned, willing herself not to cry and cause her makeup to run. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know, now,” he said sadly. 

She stepped closer to him. 

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked. 

“I’m- well, I’m marrying Erik today,” she told him with regret. 

“Oh,” he said, voice full of sorrow. “Christine... You’re wearing white for him...”

“It’s just a business deal, Raoul,” she protested feebly. “I already told you, he and I aren’t going to- it’s not going to be like that.”

He sniffled and wiped his arm across his nose.

It was swiftly growing awkward, but she didn’t know what to say or do. 

“I’m sorry,” he tried. “I really am...”

“I know,” she said weakly. “I am too.”

“I don’t understand,” his voice wavered. “Why? What- what did I do? I thought- I thought everything was fine, and then you- you- _why_?”

“Oh, Raoul-“ 

“I tried my best, Christine, please tell me where I went wrong?” 

Tears were flowing down his face now, and she was struck through with pity. Her poor Raoul. His anger was gone, only a deep sadness in its place, and somehow Christine found this even harder to bear. 

How could she have done this to him?

“It’s not your fault,” she told him, blinking hard. “It’s not your fault I’m marrying him, I just- I just-“

“When did you stop loving me?” 

Spoken at any other time in any other tone, it would have sounded petulant and demanding, something to guilt trip her, but now it only sounded like the desperate plea of a broken man. 

“I still love you,” she choked. “Raoul, I still love you.”

This wasn’t a man who wanted to stifle her and clip her wings, at least not purposely. This was the man who had cooked for her when she was too exhausted to cook for herself, the man who had spent endless hours at the hospital with her while her father went through his illness, the man who had been her refuge and support for nearly half of her life. 

And she’d thrown her ring at him after one fight, tossed him aside for an endless credit card and bank account. She felt heartless, but she knew she couldn’t be because her heart was breaking right now. 

“Were you going to ask me to marry you?” she sniffled. 

“Yeah,” he shoved his hands in his pockets, looking uncomfortable. “But I guess you wouldn’t want me to...”

“No, I do - I _do_. It’s just- it’s complicated.”

“But you’re-“ he nodded towards her giant ring, and she laughed through her tears. 

“Well that didn’t stop him, did it?”

“He’s dying, right?”

“He is,” she said sadly. “Six months.”

He took a deep breath. 

“I _promise_ you, Raoul,” she said, wiping at her tears. “I love you, and I will marry you when Erik- when it’s all over. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Six months?” he asked. 

“Six months,” she nodded and sniffed. “We can plan our wedding after that. We can get married anywhere we want. Price won’t matter. Just you and me, that’ll be all that matters.”

He pulled her close and hugged her tightly. 

“I’m going to miss you,” he choked out. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that would stem the flow of tears. 

“I won’t sleep with him,” she whispered. “I promise. When I get back - it’ll be like nothing ever happened. This marriage to him means nothing to me.”

“I trust you,” he breathed, and Christine thought his trust was the most precious thing in the world, and she vowed to guard it fiercely. 

“I love you,” she whispered. 

“You’re getting married today?”

“Yeah. At noon. At the courthouse.”

“Do you want me to come?”

“No,” she shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. But we’ll keep in touch, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I want us to be able to talk more, about more. We need to be able to communicate openly and honestly without getting mad at each other. I want that for us, don’t you?”

“I do want that, Lotte.”

She brushed her thumb across his cheek wiping his tears away. 

“Lotte...”

“Yeah?”

He sniffled. 

“How much money does he have, again?”

She laughed even as she started to tear up again. 

“A lot, Raoul. A lot.”

He hugged her. 

“We’ll be okay, won’t we?” he whispered. 

“We’ll be okay,” she agreed. 

They parted with sweet words and a few more tears, and after he was gone she went back in her apartment to freshen her makeup. Once she looked cleaned up, she went to Erik’s. She’d already decided not to tell him about Raoul, not yet at least. 

Erik took a while to open the door, as she expected. He was already dressed in an incredibly fancy tuxedo, and he looked surprised to see her there. 

“It’s bad luck for the bride to see the groom before the wedding,” he breathed. 

She looked down at her feet. 

“I’m not a bride,” she reminded him. 

“Oh. You’re early.”

“Just a bit,” she looked at her watch. 

“Should we go early?”

“We might as well, I suppose. I must admit,” he chuckled sheepishly. “I’ve been ready for at least an hour now.”

They took their time walking to the courthouse, remarking on the weather and the flowers they passed.

Her anxiety grew as they entered the courthouse. It felt almost surreal to stand there in front of the the judge and hear their vows read to them. This couldn’t really be happening, could it?

Erik slid a plain golden ring on her finger next to her diamond ring, and she took his hand and slid a similar gold ring on his long bony finger. 

Her breath hitched when they were told to kiss to seal the union. They hadn’t discussed this part at all. He was going to kiss her. He was going to kiss her and she’d feel his lips against her own, invading her in a way that only Raoul had ever done before. Her heart felt like it was in her throat. 

But Erik merely took both of her hands in his, and gently, reverently, brought her hands up before bowing his head slightly and brushed his lips against her knuckles just once. 

Inexplicably, she felt like she wanted to cry again. 

He squeezed her hands and beamed at her as though he was the happiest man in existence. She managed a small smile for his sake. 

And just like that, for better or worse, she was Christine Carrière.


	8. Chapter 8

He continued to hold her hand as they exited the courthouse. His hand was chilly from his poor circulation, but it was almost reassuring the way he held her little hand in his large one - squeezing it now and then, his thumb rubbing circles over her skin. 

She wasn’t quite sure what to say to him, but he didn’t seem to mind the silence as they walked down the sidewalk together. He kept grinning as though the best thing in the world had just happened, instead of just a few exchanged words and two signatures on a paper. 

He paused, turning to her, squeezing her hand again like he wanted to convince himself she was really there with him. 

“Christine,” he said warmly, his whole face glowing even with the mask. “I love you so very much.”

Her eyes widened at his confession, and suddenly he seemed to realize what he’d just said. He let her hand slide out of his. 

“I won’t say those words to you again, Christine, I promise,” he told her, his tone somber now. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

She felt the sting of tears bubbling up again. He loved her so much, and while she did care about him, they both knew what she felt was nowhere close to his feelings. 

“Erik-“ she started, despairing. 

She had given him so very little, and yet he contented himself with scraps and crumbs and behaved as if she’d given him the world. Their wedding had lasted not even ten minutes, and now it was over. She couldn’t help but feel that deep down, he really had wanted more, but had been too afraid to ask for it. 

He might insist that this was only a business deal, but she was painfully aware that it was much, much more to him. 

She glanced helplessly about, spying a bakery not too far away. 

“Do you want to get some cake?” she asked, placing a hand on his arm. 

“Cake?” 

He looked confused. 

“Wedding cake,” she smiled. “It’s a tradition, isn’t it?”

She pointed out the bakery and he brightened up. 

“Yes, of course!”

She smiled a little as he cheerfully grinned at her. This was the very least she could do for him - they wouldn’t have a reception, or dance, she wouldn’t wear a fancy dress, there would be no wedding night - but they could have a slice of cake together. She could do that for him. 

It wasn’t so incredibly terrible, she supposed, this business of being married. She’d been a wife now for almost twenty minutes, and the sky had yet to fall in on her. Her husband hadn’t turned into a demanding brute. She could get through six months of this, she thought. 

Erik was still grinning stupidly as they entered the bakery. The cashier greeted them, but seemed slightly unsettled. 

“Can I help you?” the cashier asked. 

“We just got married!” Erik blurted out, still grinning. 

Christine looked away, embarrassed. 

“Congratulations,” the cashier raised an eyebrow. “Now, how can I help you?”

“We want to get some slices of cake,” Christine said. 

They looked for a few moments at the available choices, Erik eventually picking a white cake with a lemon filling for them. He paid for them and they took their plates outside to eat at a table on the little patio. 

The cake was a perfect mixture of sweet with a hint of sour. She couldn’t help but giggle to see how Erik ate his - first separating the frosting from the cake and then picking the filling out, eating all three separately. 

“Is that how you always eat cake?”

“It’s the ideal way of eating it, so yes.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Christine, when you get to be my age, you don’t question what works, you just go with it.”

She ducked her head and chuckled. 

They were quiet a little while, finishing the last pieces. 

“You can say it,” she said at last, quietly. 

“Say what?”

“You can say that you love me, if you want.”

He kept his eyes trained on his plate, pushing a few crumbs around with his fork. 

“You don’t like it, when I say it,” he said simply. 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t say it...”

He only smiled sadly at her. 

“There’s an opera playing in Paris,” he told her, changing the subject. “I had hoped we could go, but it turns out that Tuesday is the last day it’s playing.”

“Oh. I might still be working.”

“Indeed. Have you ever been to the opera?”

“No,” she shook her head, then smiled wryly. “But don’t let the jeweler know that.”

He laughed sheepishly, thinking of fabricated story of their first meeting. 

“I would love to take you to the opera, Christine,” he said wistfully. “The Paris opera house is so beautiful. There’s nothing quite like it.”

“What’s playing?”

“Madame Butterfly.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll see on Monday what my boss says.”

Their little celebratory lunch over, he began to look troubled, as though he was afraid she’d be leaving too soon, even though she was content to sit a while longer. 

“Would you like to see my apartment?” he asked suddenly. 

She paused a moment. 

“Okay.”

They walked to his apartment, making fairly comfortable small talk on the way. He seemed to grow eager as they approached the apartment building he lived in, a three story red brick building that looked to probably contain a dozen different apartments inside. In the middle was a stairwell that led up to all three floors, from where the residents could reach their respective homes. 

He led her up to his door on the second floor, unlocking it before swinging it wide open and ushering her inside. 

The walls were painted a deep red, and what few windows there were were covered in heavy black curtains. The furniture looked ornate and intricate, like something from a hundred years ago. She wondered if they were all antiques. 

“This is your apartment too, now,” he said nervously as he gestured to the room. “I have an extra key, you should take it.”

She nodded, still taking in his interesting golden decor. 

It did not escape her notice, however, that while he had assumed his apartment was her and had offered her a key, he hadn’t made any mention of her own apartment and it’s belonging to him, nor did he ask for a key to it. 

“Would you like something to drink? Some wine, maybe?” he asked, heading towards what she assumed would be the kitchen. 

She smiled a little, and before she had a chance to think through what she was about to say, the teasing words were already out. 

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

He swiftly reappeared, looking hurt. 

“ _No_ ,” his tone was nearly a whine. “No.”

Her smile vanished. 

“I’m sorry, Erik- I didn’t mean- I’m sorry.”

He cleared his throat, not looking at her. 

“Would you like a tour?” he murmured. 

“I would!” 

He showed her the living room, the kitchen, his library, his bedroom, the balcony, what he called his ‘office’, and then he took her down a hallway and to a spiral staircase leading to the down to the ground floor. 

She furrowed her brow as they descended. This was an awfully large apartment... Had he combined two apartments, somehow?

“Is this just one apartment that’s all yours?” 

He paused. 

“The whole building is mine,” he said with a shrug, as though it were common knowledge. “Anyway, this is my recording studio in here.”

They entered a spacious room now, still red and black and gold. Her eyes widened as she looked around. He really had made an entire recording studio for himself. 

“There’s manuals for how to use all this,” he gestured to the equipment. “But of course, if you find it difficult, I can put you in touch with a contact who can help. I figured you might want to make use of this place after... If you want to sing and record, perhaps.”

“Oh,” she breathed. 

“This is where I recorded all of my albums,” he told her, cautiously coming to stand near her. “This is where I recorded _Don Juan Triumphant_.”

Her breath stuck in her throat. She’d never believed she’d ever be standing _here_ , of all places. She turned to look at him, finding he was studying her closely. 

“This is amazing,” she said, her voice quiet and reverent. 

“Would you like to see some of my sheet music?” he asked, hopeful. 

“Oh, yes!”

He swiftly began to search for it in a file cabinet. 

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the little studio, looking at his handwriting scores, and as she listened to him talk she forgot all about their unusual situation. Nothing mattered but Erik, and music. To her absolute joy, he offered to play for her on the condition that she sing for him. 

He offered corrections here and there, which she listened eagerly to and tried to implement. He found himself pleased with her work ethic, and at his suggestion they recorded a few songs that she sang. 

She felt dazzled as she looked at the reels of tape that now contained his music and voice with her voice too. Christine and Charles Carrière, a duet. 

“You know,” he said, a little wistful, a little nostalgic. “In another life, we would have made an excellent pair in the music world.”

“Do you think so?” 

Her cheeks were pink, and she wanted to hope that it wasn’t all flattery on his part. 

“Indeed. It almost makes me reconsider wanting to leave... We could just stay here and sing and make music for the rest of my days. But- alas.”

“We’ll still sing sometimes as we travel,” she reminded him. 

“Hmm, true. Well, my dear, can I interest you in some dinner? I think I might have some food lying around somewhere.”

“Dinner?” 

Her brow crinkled and she looked towards the clock. It was nearly six in the evening, and she gasped. She’d spent almost five hours in the studio with him and hadn’t even realized. 

He chuckled at her reaction. 

“Yes, studio time seems to go faster, doesn’t it? I swear one time I spent two weeks straight in here, not even stopping once.”

She smiled politely at his story as they made their way up to the kitchen, not bothering to correct him on the fact that two weeks of working on anything without taking a break of some kind was impossible. 

The kitchen had marble countertops and golden sink faucets and numerous dark wooden cabinets. She took the opportunity to glance at the kinds of foods he kept while he was looking for something to make, and to his credit he did appear to be sticking to his new diet. 

He ended up cooking a simple dish for them, a pasta with a white cream sauce. It tasted far better than its simple ingredients would have led her to believe, and she remarked on this during dinner. 

He laughed at this. 

“Because, my dear - it was prepared with love.”

He smiled warmly at her and she blushed. 

The little dinner seemed to teeter on the edge of fully casual and oddly intimate, the conversation veering from light subjects to deep topics, all illuminated by the numerous thick white candles on the gold candelabra in the middle of the table and from the tiny chandelier above. 

“It’s strange, really,” he mused. “Thinking about what all - and what little - I’m leaving behind. At least you’ll have something nice at your disposal, and I’ll have left one good thing behind in the world - you being able to live in comfort.”

She shook her head. 

“Oh, Erik- you’ve done more than that. Your _music_ -“

“Hmph,” he rolled his eyes. 

“No, really-“ she hesitated. “Your music touched my life in ways nothing else ever has. And I’m sure I’m not the only one. That’s a legacy right there, Erik - your music will last forever.”

Erik said nothing. The topic changed soon enough, mortality too heavy a subject for him to focus on for very long. 

Dinner was finished, and she insisted on helping him take the plates to the kitchen. She wasn’t certain if she’d ever get used to the opulence of his apartment, even if she did end up living in it. 

“I think it’s time to call a cab for you,” he said gently after the dishes were done. 

“Oh?”

She was slightly surprised, and glanced at her watch. It was eight o’clock. It was late. She hadn’t even realized, losing track of time with him yet again at the table. Would the entire six months go by like this? It made her a little wistful and sad. 

After the call was made, they chatted a little longer about some of his furniture. He escorted her to the cab, opening the car door for her once again, and the surprised her by getting in the cab himself. 

They were both quiet on the drive, but he broke the silence as he walked her up to her door. 

She fidgeted with her key in her purse, a little uncertain as to if he expected to be invited inside. 

“Christine-“

She looked up, freezing.

“Thank you for wearing white,” he murmured, looking down at her dress. “You were lovely, as always. And thank you for the cake, afterwards. You didn’t have to, but I appreciated it very much.”

“Of course,” she whispered. “And- I mean it, too. You can tell me you love me, if you want. I won’t stop you.”

He shook his head. 

“Do you want me to tell you?”

She looked away, pressing her lips together, thankful for the darkness that hid the tears in her eyes that threatened to spill over. He took her silence as an answer. 

“I can’t imagine a reason why I would do something you didn’t want,” he told her. 

“Because,” her voice wavered. “Maybe you want it, even if I don’t. And I’m your wife, and you have a right to.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. 

“And maybe what the wife wants doesn’t matter as much as compared to what the husband wants,” she continued. 

Erik only stared quietly at her for a long moment. 

“That’s not what love is like at all, Christine,” he murmured at last. 

She looked up at him, surprised. 

He raised a hand to instinctively wipe her tear away, but he stopped himself at the last moment. She was grateful that he hadn’t touched her, because that gentle gesture would have certainly undone her, and she’d end up sobbing in his arms. It wasn’t fair - life was not fair to bring him such struggles and deny him, even in his final months, the simple grace of having someone who reciprocated the kind of love he felt for her. She’d give up the fortune and the properties if she could somehow gain the ability to be truly in love with him - but it wasn’t possible, and it wasn’t fair. 

“Call me tomorrow after you know when work will let you off, okay?” he said. 

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, Christine,” he said warmly, and realization hit her like a punch in the gut - he would never again say he loved her in those words, but she knew that from then on she would hear the ghost of that sentiment in everything he said and did, regardless. 

“Goodnight,” she said, turning and unlocking her door, pausing just a moment longer before going inside and closing the door. 

From her window she watched as he walked back to the cab, and as it drove him back to his home. She’d almost expected he’d ask to come in her apartment - she’d half feared that he would, with the expectation that he could stay the night. But that seemed so unrealistic, now. He refused to even say that he loved her because he thought it upset her - how would a man like that ever make requests or demands of his husbandly rights from her? 

The phone rang, and she picked up the one in her living room. 

“Hello?”

“Christine, I’ve been calling all night - where were you?”

Raoul sounded petulant and frustrated. She blinked. 

“I was with Erik.”

“I figured. Doing _what_ with Erik?” 

She frowned now. 

“Talking. And he cooked me dinner. And then he brought me back here.”

“The ceremony was at noon. It’s eight-thirty now. You talked for _seven hours_?”

Her face flushed. 

“We did, actually.”

There was silence on the end of the line. 

“Are you sure?”

“Raoul!” she cried. 

“Is he there right now?”

“No! You’re being ridiculous!”

“I’m not being ridiculous for being worried over you when you’ve disappeared for over seven hours and I can’t get ahold of you!”

“Disapp- really! I’m _fine_ , we _talked_ , he brought me home, and that’s all that happened!”

“I want to keep in closer contact, Lotte,” he nearly begged. “I want to know what’s going on, please.”

“You already know what’s going on, Raoul - nothing that you have to worry about.”

“Can you check in with me twice a day, maybe? And let me know where you’re going and what you’re doing?”

She kicked off her shoes, taking her frustration out on them instead. 

“There’s only one man I owe that kind of report to - my husband - and you’re not him,” she reminded him. 

“I’m almost your-“

“Almost doesn’t count!”

Raoul was silent but she could almost hear him seething. 

She sat down hard on the couch and rubbed at her temples, sighing. She wiggled her now-bare toes in the orange shag rug in front of her couch, trying to distract herself from the conversation and the accusations boiling just under the surface. 

“Look, I’ll keep you informed, but you know I’m busy. I won’t have time to check in so often, but I _will_ let you know my plans, okay?”

“Okay,” he sullenly agreed. 

“I love you,” she said, hoping it would soothe him. 

“Love you too,” he muttered after a long moment of silence, then suddenly added- “Did you tell him you love him?”

She was stock still for a brief second, his question - and its implications - registering in her mind. 

“Goodnight, Raoul,” she said evenly. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She quickly hung up the phone, not waiting for a response. She’d thought she’d forgiven him, but somehow he’d found a way to irritate her all over again. She could just picture him calling her apartment every five minutes for the last five hours. 

She sighed deeply. She’d been in Erik’s home with him, all alone together, for nearly an entire day, and the most he’d done was kiss her hands at the courthouse. Raoul, she knew, would have had one thing on his mind for the entire day. But Erik- 

It was puzzling, almost. He really _hadn’t_ touched her in any capacity after he’d stopped holding her hand on their walk, not even an accidental brush of his hand against hers as they’d cooked and done dishes. 

Her mind wandered over it all as she got ready for bed, and then again in the morning as she got ready for work. She almost forgot to put her ring on before leaving, so unused to ever wearing one. 

Her day went normally enough, and on her lunch break she sought out her boss to ask for a leave of absence. 

“I’m afraid we really can’t let you go at the moment,” he said apologetically. 

Her polite smile faltered. 

“Oh, but- but I really do need off,” she told him. 

“I just don’t feel it’s good time.”

Her lips were set in a firm line. A good time?

“I work on the floor every weekday, I know how busy we are - or rather, how not busy. Cecile can pick up another shift, and I already spoke to Meg and she said we should be fine.”

He shook his head. 

“No, I don’t think so,” he said easily enough. “Maybe in a few months, though.”

Erik would be dead in another few months. She fiddled with her ring, looking down at it. She was loath to explain the situation of why she needed off, but-

“My husband wants me to take the time off, actually,” she told him. “Would you like to talk to him?”

He paused, uncertain. 

“I can call him, if you’d like,” she gestured to the phone. 

“What’s his number?”

She told him the number, and he dialed it. 

“Hello, this is- ah, your wife Christine gave me this number, that’s how... Yes, she’s fine, I assure you, nothing’s happened... She’s telling me that you wanted her to take six months off from work, is this correct, Monsieur?... I see... I understand. We’ll see what we can do for you, Monsieur. Have a good day.”

He hung up. 

“I’ll see you in six months, Christine. Enjoy your vacation, it starts tomorrow,” he smiled at her and reached his hand out to shake hers. 

“Thank you!” she squeaked, surprised that it had worked. 

She told each nurse she worked with, and all of them were just as surprised. There were hugs all around, and the promise of postcards. Cecile even shed a tear or two. 

“I wish you’d given us more time, Christine,” Sorelli said as they were leaving that night. “We would have thrown a party for you!”

“I’ll be back soon enough,” she shrugged a little. “It’s okay.”

They all hugged one last time, and soon the sounds of Meg and Cecile and Sorelli and a handful of other nurses bidding her farewell echoed into silence as they left down the hall. Christine lingered behind, savoring the silence around the buzz of the lights in the locker room one last time. It would be a while before she heard it again, and she when she came back, she wouldn’t be the same person, she knew. 

At last she walked down that hall one last time, trying to memorize it. It was oddly bittersweet, those flecked grey and white tiles and off-white walls. She was looking forward to seeing some color in her surroundings on her trips. 

Her first call when she arrived home was to Erik. 

“Did you bribe him?” she asked as soon as he answered. 

He laughed. 

“Christine! What ever makes you think so?”

“Erik,” she whined. “Tell me what you did.”

“I merely told him that as your husband I wished for you to have some time off,” he said simply. 

She narrowed her eyes at the wall. She wanted to believe he secretly had bribed him, because the other option was that her boss was willing to let her have time off when her husband asked for it but not when she had asked for it. 

“Well, I’m off starting tomorrow. Didn’t you say there was an opera you wanted to see? We could go see it, now.”

He paused. 

“You want to go to the opera with me?”

His tone was disbelieving and yet hopeful. 

“I married you, Erik, I would think seeing an opera together is less of a commitment than _that_ ,” she teased. 

“Yes, of course - I’ll be by in the afternoon to pick you up, we can make a day of it.”

“Okay,” she said. 

She could practically hear the smile in his voice. 

“Okay,” he repeated. “Sleep well, my dear.”

She rang up Raoul next, to let him know what had happened. 

“You’re off already?” 

He sounded a little panicked. 

“Erik said he wanted to leave about a week after I got off,” she said. “So yeah, it’s happening pretty fast.”

“Well- can we go out to dinner tomorrow night?”

She twisted the cord around her finger. 

“I actually had plans for tomorrow night,” she said quietly. 

“Can’t you change them?”

He was nearly whining now. 

“I’m sorry.”

“We can go out to dinner at least once before you leave, right?”

“I’m sure of it, Raoul. Listen, it’s late, and I’ve got a lot of stuff to do, so I gotta go.”

“Okay... Wait, are you having dinner with _him_ tomorrow?” he asked, annoyed. 

She quickly hung up, pretending she hadn’t heard the last part he’d tacked on at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the comments :) <3


	9. Chapter 9

The opera house really was very beautiful. The drive there in the taxi had been long, but once she saw the inside of the building she knew it had been worth it. 

It was worth it, also, to see how happy Erik looked to be there with her. They had arrived well before the performance time, so he took her around the opera house in her own personal tour, pointing out things here and there. She’d never realized how much he enjoyed architecture until he was chattering happily about to it as they walked those marble floor and looked at the painted ceilings. There didn’t seem to be anything in the building that he didn’t know something about. 

When it was nearly time for the show to start, she was surprised - though she knew she shouldn’t be - that Erik had gotten them the best seats in the house. The lights went down and the music soared, and her concerns washed away as she watched the stage. 

_Un bel dì vedremo_ \- “ _One fine day_ ” - this was the song she’d sung for Erik on that afternoon that seemed so long ago now. Tears prickled at her eyes as her hand moved unconsciously up to her own throat as the singer’s voice rang out through the auditorium. How she wished that was her up there. It could have been, once upon a time. 

One fine day, indeed. 

Erik shifted a little next to her. She glanced over and found him watching her. It was hard to read his expression through the darkness and the mask, but he seemed understanding. 

He placed his hand palm up on the arm rest, offering but respectfully. She reached out and placed her hand in his, and he squeezed it just enough. She looked back up at the stage again. 

Sometimes she felt like Cio-Cio-san, dreaming of that beautiful day in the day in the future when her hopes would come true, only to have them end in tragedy once they arrived. She wondered if Erik felt that same way, only about her. Was he dreaming of one fine day when she would love him in the way he loved her? Did he know it was only a wisp of smoke in the distance that would fade into nothing, but still dream it just the same?

She squeezed his hand. 

When the opera was over, neither one mentioned the moment had occurred between them. 

“That was so beautiful!” Christine sighed to him as they left. 

“The soprano could have been better,” he remarked. 

“Erik!” she laughed, shaking her head. “No, she was perfect!”

“You could have done better,” he insisted. “She couldn’t hold a candle to you, my dear.”

She flipped through her little paper program, searching for the singer’s name. 

“ _Carlotta Guidicelli_ was wonderful, Erik!”

He sighed. 

“This is grounds for divorce, I believe,” he mused, and she playfully swatted at him with the program. 

As they walked down the sidewalk, she couldn’t help but notice how much he was grinning. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “I’m not laughing.”

“You’re _grinning_ ,” she teased. 

The grin faltered. 

“I’m not crazy, Christine,” he began, and suddenly her smile disappeared, not very wild about whatever must follow an intro like that. 

“I understand the difference between what’s real and what’s only in my head,” he continued. “And I’m only telling you because you asked, so please don’t take this the wrong way. I was merely imagining that tonight could, perhaps, be considered our first date. If one considered us a couple, that is. I know that we’re not.”

She tilted her head, considering. 

“It was almost like a date, wasn’t it?”

His smile returned. 

It was the first of many such ‘dates’ - Erik seemed to want to be by her side nearly constantly. There were numerous little places he wanted to go with her - the zoo, museums, restaurants, gardens, theaters, bakeries - but she also spent a good deal of time with him at his house, too. 

Sometimes he’d ask for her to come over even when he had other things he needed to do. She’d wander his quiet house as he made phone calls in a room with a closed door, unsure what to do with herself or why he’d ask to come over in the first place when he couldn’t see her. Perhaps it eased the loneliness, she mused. Maybe he could hear her soft footsteps and feel better just knowing someone else was in the house. 

The week went fast. She really had meant to find a night to go out with Raoul, but then Erik had made plans to go places, and she couldn’t very well turn him down once he asked her. When they weren’t going to the theater or a museum they were eating someplace she’d only ever dreamed of going yet could never justify the expense of actually trying, and when they weren’t eating their meals together they were in the studio once more. 

Those were her favorite times, though she had to admit, she was enjoying the whole thing more than she’d thought she would. 

But in the studio, Erik would play the piano for her, and it was the dreamiest thing she’d ever heard. He had been correct - he had arthritis in his joints, especially his fingers, and every so often he’d hit a key wrong and she could tell this vexed him, but even being slightly off tempo and with the occasional wrong note, he was still wildly impressive to hear in person. 

She supposed she couldn’t be too much to blame for not meeting up with Raoul - not when she had the chance to hear Charles Carrière play his private compositions only for her. 

Raoul, however, didn’t see it that way. 

“What do you mean?” 

His voice over the phone still carried every ounce of betrayal that she was missing out on seeing in person. 

“I mean what I said,” she told him, frowning. “I’m not going to be able to see you before I leave.”

“Christine- that’s- that’s-“

“I’m sorry, Raoul,” she sighed. “I didn’t mean it to turn out like that - but I’ve very busy and I’m very tired.”

“But I miss you... I’m going to miss you even more when you’re _gone for six months_.”

“I know.”

She felt terrible for doing this to him, but she wanted to go to sleep early the night before their flight - Erik had booked a very early morning one - and the only other night she had had left was one that Erik wanted to take her to a picnic dinner along the Seine. How could she have said no to that? 

“I’ve been calling your place all the time and you’re never even there to pick up. I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

Her shoulders tensed a little. 

“Think of it as a business trip,” she said. “I’ve been very busy with work - this is my work right now. In about six months, my job will be over, and I’ll be back here with you. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I guess,” he said, sullen. 

“Look,” she softened her tone. “I can meet you tomorrow on your lunch break for a few minutes. I know it’s not dinner or anything, but it’s _something_.”

“Okay, I’d like that.”

True to her word, she did take some time off from packing to go and meet him. As she waited outside his office building for him, she envisioned their last meeting until she returned from her trip. It would be sweet, and hopeful. He’d say something nice, maybe. She’d promise to phone as soon as she got to Rome, her first destination. 

Raoul quickly walked out of the building and made a beeline right for her, pulling her into his arms and hugging her. 

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered. 

“I’ll miss you too,” he murmured, and to her horror he pulled back and tried to kiss her. 

What was he doing?! 

She ducked her head away and pushed him back. 

He stared at her, baffled and hurt. 

“Christine- what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? I’m married!”

Anger flashed across his face. 

“You said it didn’t mean anything,” he said tightly. “You said it was a business arrangement. You said you wouldn’t-“

“Stop!”

“Why can’t I kiss you, then?”

She looked down at her feet, confused by her own actions. She didn’t know what to say. 

“I’m married,” she repeated softly. “It doesn’t feel right - kissing anyone. I shouldn’t. I can’t.”

“He doesn’t care, does he? Why can’t you?”

She fidgeted a little. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him.”

“He didn’t ask me if it was okay to propose to you,” he said bitterly. 

“Raoul,” she begged. “Please, don’t make it weird. I only have a little bit of time with you left - we aren’t going to see each other for a while. _Please_.”

He sighed, relenting. 

“Where are you going first?”

“Rome,” she told him, smiling a little. “I’ll send you postcards. I’ll write to you, too. Long letters. It’ll be romantic, I promise.”

“Yeah.”

“I won’t be anywhere long enough for you to write back,” she continued. “But we can talk on the phone, too. We can work it out.”

“I’d like to think so...”

“We _will_ ,” she promised, then lowered her voice, taking a step closer to him. “This is going to solve all our problems.”

She firmly believed it to be the case - she was determined to make it the case. She would return from this expedition with all of their money problems solved forever. With those problems fixed, surely their other problems would be a breeze to deal with. They _had_ to be. Because if they weren’t, then was all this for?

He smiled softly, wanting to believe her words, too. 

“I really will miss you,” he said at last. “Try to call often, okay?”

“Okay. One last hug?”

She held her arms out to him, but his smile vanished. 

“I shouldn’t,” he said, his tone a little colder than she would have liked. “You’re married.”

She huffed and let her arms drop. 

“Okay. I’ll see you in six months then.”

“You could see me tonight, but I guess your husband wouldn’t like that, either.”

“I’m getting up early tomorrow, you know that,” she looked away as she answered him. “That has nothing to do with him.”

He shrugged. 

“You could sleep on the plane.”

“I’m here now. Isn’t that enough?”

He didn’t say anything. 

She pressed her lips together. 

“Well, then,” she said primly. “I guess I’ll be going.”

She turned and began to walk away, and Raoul almost called after her for that last hug, but didn’t. 

She desperately wished he’d just call out, ask her to stop, _anything_ , but her pride wouldn’t let her turn around to even look at him. She was disappointed in him, but she was more disappointed in herself. 

She didn’t have time to dwell on it, however, because a taxi pulled up next to her as she was walking down the sidewalk. The window rolled down as she gave the car a concerned look, preparing to make a run for it in the opposite direction, but she breathed a sigh of relief to find it was only Erik in the backseat. 

“Stop, stop right here - just a moment,” he told the driver, then turned to Christine, opening the door and waving for her to get in. “My dear, hurry, get it, come along now.”

She got in, the car moving again as soon as her door was closed. 

“What luck,” Erik smiled at her. “I was just on my way to your apartment.”

“Oh? Why?”

She blurted the words out before she could stop them. 

He laughed softly at how her face blushed immediately afterwards. 

“To make sure you’d finished packing, my dear, no other reason, I assure you. Have you finished packing?”

“Oh,” she fidgeted a little. “Yeah. I have. I’m all ready, I think.”

She’d given her extra key to Meg, and had three huge trunks filled with all the things Erik had told her to bring. 

“Good, good. I had wanted to ask you - would you spend the night at my apartment?”

She froze, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, her mouth dry. He had asked. He’d finally asked. 

“I- I- ah-“

What could she tell him? Did he really expect her to-? 

He quickly realized her predicament. 

“I have a guest room,” he rushed to add. “You’d stay in there. I am merely asking because our flight leaves so very early, you know - it will take time for the taxi to get from my place to yours and then to the airport - if we both left from my place first thing, we wouldn’t have to get up quite as early - it really would be an innocent arrangement, Christine, I didn’t mean to make you think-“

She swallowed hard, her heart still beating fast. 

“I see,” she said weakly. 

He looked away, his fingers tapping anxiously on the handle of his door. 

“You don’t have to,” he said quietly. 

“You have a guest room?” 

Her voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I do,” he said. 

“Okay,” she exhaled. “I’ll stay.”

She hoped she wouldn’t regret her decision as they went up to her apartment to gather her luggage into the taxi. She felt awkward about it, and the possibilities that could arise, but in the entire week they’d spent together he really had been a gentleman about everything. She knew, though, that he wanted more than what they currently had. Whether he would actually ask for more remained to be seen. 

She could tell during their picnic the previous night that his feelings ran deeper than he was letting on. He hadn’t said - or done - anything that made her feel uncomfortable, but she could tell from the dreamy look in his eyes to the way he’d smiled at her that he was once again pretending she was actually his wife who loved him. It made her feel terrible, knowing what he was pretending and knowing that they both knew she didn’t feel the same. He shouldn’t have to pretend. He deserved better than that. As much as he insisted that he fine with pretending and didn’t need anything more from her, she couldn’t help but wonder if he secretly resented her for it. And if he didn’t now, would he, later on?

These thoughts and more were buzzing in her brain as she prepared to spend the night at his place. She wanted to play along, to make him happy, but what if one day he forgot it was only pretend? That would only lead to hurt feelings all around. She had smiled and laughed and teased him last night, but she didn’t want to lead him to believe something was there that really wasn’t. At what point did kindness become cruelty? 

Erik insisted on carrying one of her pieces of luggage, despite her fussing over him. Once all three were out on the porch, he paused. 

“Do you want a moment alone in your home?” he asked. 

“Yeah, actually,” she said, blinking in surprise. 

She hadn’t even realized that she did until he mentioned it. 

He politely gave her some time, taking her luggage one by one to the taxi while she lingered in her apartment one last time before she left it. She hugged her arms around herself as she looked at each room. She felt melancholy, and then, suddenly, she felt very silly. She turned quickly and left the apartment, locking it up before darting down the stairs after Erik. She would be back here one day. Erik wouldn’t, and her place was beside him, not mourning some imaginary loss of a few months not spent in the little place she’d worked hard to make a life for herself in. 

As she slid into the seat next to Erik in the taxi and smiled at him, she had no way of knowing that the phone in her apartment was ringing, no way of knowing that it was Raoul on the other end or that he had wanted to apologize for how he’d behaved - just like how Raoul had no idea that she had already left her old life behind her, and wasn’t simply ignoring his call and him. 

She became nervous again once they were settled in his home and after dinner was finished. Her nerves over the big trip coming up combined with her nerves about staying in his apartment with him, and on top of that was the feeling that she couldn’t express her worries to him because he certainly had enough worries already. She was tired and just wanted to sleep, but she was also acutely aware that it was Erik’s last night in France, and he seemed to want to play card games with her, so she accepted. 

They played five hands of cards after dinner, and as he was dealing the sixth, he noticed when she stifled a yawn. 

He smiled softly and put down the cards. 

“Let’s show you to your room, hmm?” 

“I can still play if you want me to,” she said anxiously. 

“No, it’s all right. Come along.”

She grabbed one of her luggage trunks and he led her down a hallway and to a room at the very end. 

“The guest room,” he announced, gesturing to it. 

“Do you have many guests?” she dared to ask as she looked inside. 

His jaw tightened. 

“No, actually. It was my mother’s furniture, you see - and her mother’s, and hers, and so on,” he waved a hand. “She didn’t want me to have it at all, but- well, she couldn’t have everything her way, now could she?”

She pressed her lips together as she looked at the antique furniture that was clearly still a sore spot to him. 

“I see,” she said weakly. 

“I imagine she’d have preferred it as kindling for a bonfire or for it to rot in the landfill instead of have it come into my possession, but it’s been mine ever since she died, and in a little while, it’ll be yours entirely. Whatever you do with it then will be completely up to you.”

Thinking about it nearly made her head spin. 

“Oh.”

His odd mood seemed to fade. 

“Do you need anything else tonight?” he asked, his kind self returning. 

“Um, I don’t think so,” she told him, her eyes falling to the doorknob and it’s noticeable lack of a lock. 

Unconsciously, she reached out to touch it to make certain that there really wasn’t one, and Erik noticed. She startled when she realized what she doing, and met his eyes, embarrassed. He held her gaze a long moment, his expression blank. 

“Goodnight, Christine,” he said tightly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And with that he turned to leave. She hung her head as he left, feeling like a scolded child. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, or to imply anything by her action. She just wasn’t used to staying over with anyone. 

She closed the door and changed into her long nightgown, brushing her teeth in the little bathroom and washing her face. She was about to go sleep when she realized she was thirsty. She hesitated a moment before pulling on her dressing gown and stealing out to the kitchen. 

Erik was unexpectedly in the living room, which she had to pass through to get to the kitchen. His presence startled her, and she gasped, her hands flying up to pull her dressing gown more tightly closed around her chest as though she were afraid he’d catch a glimpse of her nightgown, modest though it was. 

He looked disappointed at her reaction to him. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked, a little put out. 

“I just wanted a glass of juice,” she said in a small voice, shamefaced. 

“You look awfully nervous about getting a glass of juice,” he mused bitterly, then sighed and waved her away. “Well, get on with it - you know where the kitchen is.”

She nodded, too mortified to meet his eye, and scurried into the kitchen. She poured herself a small glass of grape juice and drank it in one go, her mouth drier than ever. When she was finished she washed and dried the glass before putting it back, both as a kind gesture to him and also to avoid having to see him again so soon. 

At last she had to return to her room, and she slunk out of the kitchen, hoping he wouldn’t notice her. 

He did. 

He watched her sadly as she made her way slowly across the room, still clutching nervously at her dressing gown. 

“You aren’t my prisoner, Christine,” he said softly. “I want you to understand that. You’re more than free to leave at any time, if you find I overstep my bounds.”

She paused but said nothing. She might not be his prisoner, but she was his wife, and in her mind, there wasn’t very much difference. 

“Get some rest,” he said at last, and he sounded tired too. 

As tired as she was, she found she couldn’t get to sleep. Erik stayed up for far longer, and she could hear him walking around in the other rooms, each little noise making her flinch under the blankets, certain that at any moment he would decide he’d changed his mind and want to spend the night with her. There was no lock to keep him out, after all. 

She rolled over and stared at the ceiling with wide eyes, unseeing in the darkness. She wouldn’t fight him on the matter, she’d already decided. If he asked it of her, she wouldn’t turn him away. She was his wife, and Raoul would just have to understand. She dearly hoped he wouldn’t ask, but she comforted herself with the thought that a man who was so gentle with her in every other aspect would surely be gentle with her in that regard, too. 

But he never even came close to her room, and eventually the little sounds of him moving about ceased. She supposed she must have fallen asleep at some point, though she couldn’t remember when, because she woke with a start very early in the morning. 

It wasn’t an alarm clock or even Erik knocking on her door that woke her - it was the sound of Erik, somewhere out in the house, wheezing and hacking and coughing hard. Her heart pounded and a lump formed in her throat as she listened to him. 

It had been so easy to believe that he was doing well during the past week - he’d shown very few signs of his illness at all. But that was when he was able to control what she saw, and what she heard. There was no hiding the reality of it here in his most private abode. The sounds reminded her too much of her father. She pressed her face into the pillow, praying for it stop. 

He quieted at last, and she pulled her tear-stained face away from the pillow. Was she being cruel to him, to insist on separate rooms? But he was the one who had offered that to her. Did he not want her in that way, or was he merely too polite to ask?

She got up and dressed quickly, now beginning to worry over how quiet he’d become. She smoothed her hair back with her hands as she left her room, finding him in the living room, one hand braced against the wall and the other on his chest. 

“Are you okay?” she asked breathlessly, her brow crinkled in concern. 

He looked up, surprised, and nodded. 

“Oh, did I wake you?” he asked weakly. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

She shook her head. 

“It’s okay.”

His eyes were watering from his attack, but she didn’t mention it, just like how he didn’t mention the redness in her own eyes from her recent crying. 

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked as he straightened up. 

“I want to be sure you’re okay.”

He chuckled lightly. 

“This is a normal morning for me, my dear.”

She chewed on her lip, deciding to go to the kitchen. There was nothing normal about that kind of cough, and they both knew it, though neither one wanted to say it. 

“I got these at the bakery yesterday,” he said, showing her a box of pastries. “I figured we wouldn’t be much for cooking anything this morning.”

She thanked him, and took the offered cheese danish. 

The flaky sweet layers stuck to the inside of her mouth, but she ate as much as she could despite not having an appetite. Outings around town with Erik had been fun, but she had been starkly reminded that she was, in fact, here to do a job, and that a certain point it would cease to be very much fun at all for either of them. 

“Are you having any shortness of breath? Any chest pain?” she asked around bites. 

“No,” he assured her easily. 

“Erik... I can only help you as much as much as you tell me the truth.”

He paused, studying the pastry in his hand. 

“I’ll tell you,” he promised. “I’ll be honest.”

“Okay. Good,” she smiled at him. “You’re feeling okay again?”

“I’ll be okay.”

After she had eaten as much as she could, there was one last mad dash to make certain she had everything she needed. Three pieces of luggage plus her purse and a rather large carryon bag which happened to be her medical bag, plus two large pieces of luggage that were Erik’s and one messenger bag he was taking with him on the plane. 

They loaded everything into the waiting taxi, and Erik locked the door of his apartment one last time, placing his hand on the middle of the door as though he were saying goodbye. He turned and looked at Christine, who was standing by his side, and he smiled a sad smile. 

“Let’s go,” he said softly, and handed her the key to his apartment. 

She sucked in a breath, the solemness of the moment not lost on her. The next time she opened that door with that key, the building would be hers, and he would be gone. 

They contented themselves with smalltalk on the ride to the airport, and she was glad for a distraction from her nerves. 

“Oh,” she said nervously as they left the taxi and entered the airport. “I’ve never been in an airport before...”

“Really? But you have a passport.”

“I got it a few years ago when I thought I was going vacation, but I ended up not going.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. 

“I wanted to go to Sweden with Raoul, but... He didn’t want to go.”

“Your boy is a brat, Christine,” he mused. 

“It’s not like that,” she sighed. “I had a certain week off from the hospital, but his work ended up needing him there for important project... It just didn’t work for our trip.”

“Couldn’t he have taken off from work, even still?”

She looked away and didn’t anything. 

She was quiet as Erik checked them in for the flight and handed the luggage to the attendant. 

“I wish I’d gone, maybe,” she said at last as they sat down to wait for the plane. “Just by myself, even. But...”

“But you wanted to go with him,” he added quietly, and she nodded. 

“I was born in Sweden,” she said. “We moved to France when I was three years old, just after my mother died. I don’t remember very much about it at all, but I’d like to see it one day.”

“Perhaps after your boy doesn’t need to work anymore, you can both go there for a long vacation,” he said, staring out the huge window at the planes that were arriving and departing. 

She glanced at him, surprised. He’d assumed that she was still marrying Raoul. He’d assumed correctly, she supposed. She felt guilty about that, that she’d never been exactly upfront with Erik about her practically being engaged to Raoul even though she was married to _him_ , but it seemed he already knew. She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but it also made her want to cry. How could he stand that? Wasn’t the rejection crushing? But perhaps he felt he’d already won - she was wearing his ring, after all. 

“Perhaps,” she said. 

As they boarded the plane she felt antsy again, only worse this time. Erik sat by the window, and she sat next to him. She buckled her seat belt as soon as she sat down, then wished she hadn’t. She turned this way and that, looking about. At last she sank down in her seat, her lips turning down into an almost comical pout. 

“Erik,” she said, turning suddenly to him. “The plane won’t go very high, will it?”

Erik laughed, thinking she was joking, but then caught sight of her face and his laughter stopped. 

“What?” he asked, his expression frozen. “What do you mean, dear? Are you serious?”

He dreaded the answer. 

She squirmed a little, highly uncomfortable. 

“Erik,” she whispered, despairing. “I’m afraid of heights.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a mood board based on this story - check it out at super-mertens.tumblr.com 
> 
> <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to everyone sticking with this story despite its unusual start so far <3 
> 
> Although there will be nothing in this story that is non-consensual, this chapter does contain discussions of hypothetical non-con

“You _what?_ ” he said a little too loudly, and she cringed. 

“I- I’ve never been on a plane before,” she whimpered. “And I’m scared of heights. It’s not that high, is it?”

Erik gaped at her, eyes wide. 

“It’s not going to be that bad, right?” she insisted. 

Erik turned and pulled the little curtain down over the window. 

“ _Nooo_ ,” he soothed. “It’ll be fine, I’m certain.”

She bit her lip. She’d be more inclined to believe him if he wasn’t looking at her like she’d just swallowed a bomb. 

“Just try not to think about it,” he offered. 

She nodded and closed her eyes. 

That only worked until the plane began to take off. 

Her eyes flew open as the force of gravity pressed her back into the seat. 

“What’s it doing?” she nearly squealed. 

“It’s- leaving the ground,” Erik said nervously. 

A look of terror crossed her face. 

“Do you want to hold my hand?” Erik asked, unsure what else to do for her. 

She quickly grabbed his hand, squeezing it so hard her knuckles turned white. 

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “It’s going to be all right.”

He began to him softly, just loud enough for her to hear, and some of the tension went of her body. 

She felt so ashamed of herself - a grown woman panicking like this because a plane was doing what it was supposed to do. She was supposed to be the one there to support Erik, not the other way around. 

Eventually the plane leveled off, and she let go of Erik’s hand. 

“Thank you,” she muttered, embarrassed. 

Her hand was sweaty. Could this get any more mortifying? At least she hadn’t cried. 

She reached down to her bag on the floor and pulled out a little book to read. Erik glanced at it and did a double take. 

“ _Italian Phrases for Beginners_?” he read the title and gave her a puzzled look. “You don’t speak Italian?”

“No,” she admitted. 

“Like- _none_?”

She frowned and looked away. _Now_ she might cry. 

“I sing opera in Italian, but I doubt that’s going to help us much.”

“Well, no matter, I suppose,” he said. “I’m quiet fluent.”

She blinked at the pages of her phrasebook, trying to not let her thoughts consume her. It seemed she hadn’t prepared very well for this trip. It seemed she hadn’t prepared for anything very well - not the trip or her marriage. Everything was new to her right now, and she had precious little to anchor her in a sea of strange waves and emotions. 

Erik dozed a little on the flight, and Christine wished she could sleep, too, but found the prospect impossible - being in the air was far too nerve wracking. Although she didn’t feel panic like she did at the start, she felt nervous even still, and she wished Erik was awake to talk to her but she didn’t have the heart to wake him. It struck her just alone she felt in that moment. She hoped they spoke French in Portugal, because once Erik died she’d be entirely on her own in the middle of somewhere so very far from home, not knowing a single soul or the langue. 

She felt immediately guilty at the thought - Erik was dying and she was feeling sorry for herself. 

She shoved her phrasebook back into her bag, unable to concentrate on it. She glanced over at Erik, at how he was sitting, arms crossed and chin resting on his chest. He was going to hurt his neck like that. 

She pressed the button for the flight attendant and asked for a pillow for him. The attendant returned a moment later with one, and she gently shook Erik awake to give it to him. 

He opened his eyes and breathed in deeply. 

“It’s okay, Christine, I’m not tired,” he said, sounding half asleep still. 

She just smiled a little and placed the pillow behind him and to the side, and he unconsciously leaned against it. She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he wouldn’t arrive in Italy unable to turn his head. 

She leaned back in her own seat, looking across the aisle and seeing that the window on the other side of the plane was still uncovered. Sunlight filtered in, and they passed through a large, puffy cloud. She knew how high up they were, but she looked away and pretended not to know. 

The landing was rougher and bumpier than she would have expected, but by that time Erik was awake again and she didn’t feel quite so alone. 

“Almost there,” he said quietly, his golden eyes gleaming with anticipation. 

She grit her teeth and nodded, hoping the airplane wasn’t about to fall apart in the meantime. 

She felt frazzled by the time they were on the ground, and all she wanted was to grab her luggage and head right to the hotel room so she could have a moment of peace and solitude. 

It wasn’t meant to be, however, because their luggage was seemingly lost. 

She began to panic, thinking of everything that was in there - all of her new clothes that Erik had bought for her, extra medicine in case Erik had advanced symptoms... and tucked between the layers of a skirt, her extra months worth of contraceptives. Erik’s luggage, too, had incredibly important and hard to replace items - his soft, comfortable masks that didn’t chafe his face like the one he was wearing. 

“It can’t just be lost, can it?” she asked Erik anxiously. “How could they lose it?”

“No, I’m sure they have it,” he murmured. “Here-“

He began speaking fast and fluent Italian to one of the airport employees, and Christine stood there in the middle of the conversation, completely lost. If she had felt childish for being afraid on the plane, this only added to the sensation. 

Erik huffed and ran a hand through his hair as the employee went to go check on something. She wished she could help him somehow, but she only felt useless instead. She could practically see the hourglass in Erik’s mind, the one constantly counting down, and the precious sand they both realized was being wasted by the little inconveniences of life, sand that could have been spent doing something else but was instead wasted on waiting for lost luggage. She looked away. 

“Do you want something to drink?” she asked suddenly. “Some water, or some juice? I’m going to go get something at that little gift shop over there.”

“A coffee would be lovely,” he replied. 

She bit her lip. 

“You can’t have coffee,” she reminded him gently. “The caffeine is bad for you.”

“Just get me a coffee, Christine,” he whined, staring at the door the employee had left through. “I need something to wake up.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but decided not to. She left to go get their drinks. 

From the little gift shop she could still see Erik. The employee had come back and they looked to be having a very animated and lively discussion. She wished she’d learned how to apologize in Italian - it seemed like a good skill to have in order to offset his temper. 

She hesitated by the coffee machine, uncertain. He was going to have heart palpitations all day if he drank that. But he had asked for it specifically, twice. 

She got a drink for Erik and one for herself and took them to counter to pay, greeting the woman there with a smile. 

She tried to hand her some money but the woman shook her head. Christine tried Erik’s credit card instead, but the woman shook her head again. Christine’s brow knit. The woman was saying something but she didn’t understand her. She looked back at Erik, hoping he would be looking at her, but he wasn’t. 

She sheepishly left the counter and approached Erik, who was still chewing out the now disgruntled employee. He didn’t notice her appearance by his side. She tugged on his sleeve. 

“What?” he asked sharply. 

She hung her head. 

“I don’t know how to buy the drinks,” she said quietly, fighting back embarrassed tears. 

He sighed, his expression softening, and he followed her to the gift shop where he politely greeted and had a small exchange with the woman before pulling out his wallet and handing her a different credit card. 

Erik pointed to a tiny sign by the cash register that showed a few credit card logos. 

“They don’t accept every card here,” he explained to Christine. 

Her face turned red. 

“I didn’t know... I never used a credit card before the one you gave me...”

But he’d already left to go see about the luggage. 

She completed the transaction and thanked the woman, taking both paper cups back to Erik. 

She handed him his and he took a sip of it, giving her a long, disappointed look when he realized she hadn’t gotten him coffee. 

“Decaffeinated green tea,” she said, squirming under his look. “I got us both the same thing.”

He said nothing but took another sip. 

After another hour and half, the luggage was found at last - on a different plane. Apparently, it had somehow gotten put on a later flight than theirs, and they would need to wait two hours for it to arrive. Given the option of heading to hotel and having the luggage sent to them when it arrived or waiting for the luggage themselves, Erik chose the latter, not trusting them not to lose it again. 

They amused themselves for a while in the various gift shops. Erik had no interest in the trinkets for himself, but Christine picked out a number of postcards to send to Raoul and Meg. They spent a great deal of time sitting and waiting, and Erik recounted some of his own disasters that had befallen him on his previous trips. 

She listened intently, nodding along, secretly wishing she could be taking a nap. Why hadn’t she tried harder to sleep on the plane? 

Finally their luggage arrived, and they gathered it up and carried it with them. 

Erik said nothing about it, but she could tell it bothered him. He’d specifically chosen the earlier flight so they’d have more time in Italy, but now they might as well have taken the later flight and been able to sleep in. 

They took their luggage outside and Erik hailed a taxi, then told the driver the name of their hotel. Their bad luck was not at an end, however, because the driver got lost not once but twice, and Erik let him know how he felt about that in no uncertain terms. 

Christine was getting a headache from listening to all the words she didn’t understand. 

They arrived at their hotel much later than anticipated, but he had paid enough that he was certain the room was still held for them. Hotel room keys procured, they made their way up to the top of the building. 

She had half expected there to be some sort of “mix up” with the hotel room, that they might, in fact, end up with a room that only contained one bed, but the room Erik had rented was actually three rooms in one - a little living room with a bedroom in either side of it. 

“Pick which room you’d like, my dear,” he told her. 

“No, you pick,” she insisted. 

He raised a covered eyebrow and glanced in each one before picking the room on the right. She went into her own room and settled her luggage, and when she came out she was about to suggest ordering room service and resting, but Erik had other ideas. 

“Do you want to walk around the plaza? I’m sure there’s some fine restaurants here.”

She held her tongue. She felt in no mood to go exploring, but this was Erik’s trip. 

“Okay,” she said. 

She was glad, afterwards, that she’d gone out. It was an enjoyable, if tiring, experience. Erik apparently used to live in Rome, and he was eager to show her all the places he used to love going. 

“Isn’t the view beautiful from here?” he asked her eagerly. 

“Oh, it’s lovely!” she agreed. 

“Let’s get a slice of pizza here, I think you’ll love it.”

They ate the pizza as they sat at a little wrought iron table under the shade of a large tree, the sunlight warm and the birds around them chirping. 

She managed to forget most of her tiredness, smiling as she listened to him tell stories of his days as a young man here. Underneath all of his happiness, though, there seemed to be a common thread of sadness, and she almost asked about it but decided not to. 

“What work did you do when you were here?” she asked, curious - it was the one thing he hadn’t mentioned. “Did it have to do with music?”

He chuckled nervously. 

“Have you ever had a cannoli, Christine? There’s a wonderful little place that sells them, just down the street, I think. I want you to try one. I hope the recipe is still the same.”

They bought cannolis, and afterwards they found a street vendor selling hats. She convinced him to buy a black fedora, and he insisted on buying her an old fashioned wide brimmed hat in red, with large white feathers on top. She felt absolutely ridiculous in all the best of ways wearing it, and she couldn’t stop giggling. 

They received more than a few stares as they walked down the street donning their finery, and Erik went out of his way to bow to these people, and Christine found it endlessly amusing. 

After a little more sightseeing on foot, Erik took them to a restaurant that used to be his favorite. They had to remove their hats for the sake of politeness, but they could watch the sunset from the large windows, and she let Erik order for her. 

“And some red wine, I think,” he concluded, telling her what he planned to order for them. 

“No wine,” she said. “Not with your heart...”

He looked somber. 

“I want to drink wine with my wife in Italy,” he said quietly. 

She looked down, suddenly reminded of her place. 

It was going to be difficult to balance, abstaining from things that would only kill him quicker or indulging in things that made his remaining days enjoyable. As his wife she should agree to whatever he wanted - as his nurse she needed to make certain he took care of himself. This was his trip to see the things he’d always wanted to see - except he’d already been to Italy. What he wanted was to share Italy with his wife, and that apparently included having wine. 

“One glass,” she conceded. “Just one.”

He smiled warmly at her, and she returned it weakly. 

The waiter brought them their wine, and then the plates and plates of food. Christine felt slightly guilty that he had ordered so much, knowing that even between the two of them they couldn’t finish it all. It didn’t seem to bother Erik at all, but she had not been brought up to be cavalier about wasting food. 

Erik sipped his wine slowly in between bites of fettuccine Alfredo and boiled mussels and lasagna and eggplant parmigiana. 

“I’m sorry you can’t have more, Erik,” she said apologetically. “I’m not trying to crush your fun, I just want you to be healthy.”

“I know,” he said kindly, taking another sip. “It’s all right, my dear. I’m used to making due with a taste of something instead of the entire thing.”

His gaze lingered on her as he said it, and she shifted nervously. 

“It’s no matter, Christine, I assure you,” he chuckled. “How do you like your food?”

“It’s good,” she said. “I can see why you loved this place.”

Their conversation thankfully turned light again, and she enjoyed the evening as much as she could, considering that her fatigue was setting in again. Erik seemed to thoroughly enjoy himself as well, telling little stories about fond memories of the dishes and making her smile with jokes. 

It felt much later than it was when they finally got a taxi and went back to the hotel. 

She was exhausted, but her brain was too wired to sleep just yet. She pulled one of the books she’d brought along out of her suitcase, a mystery novel. Erik had seemingly retired for the evening, having gone straight to his room as soon as they’d gotten in. She took her book and decided to sit on the sofa in the living room area and read until her head cleared enough to sleep. 

Erik entered the living room, looking at her curiously. He wandered the tiny room aimlessly before coming to stand near the sofa again. 

“May I- may I sit with you?” he asked, twisting his hands together. 

She looked up from her book, brow furrowed. 

“If you want.”

He eagerly came and sat at the opposite end of the sofa. She looked down at her book, trying to keep her expression neutral. 

They sat in silence for a while, with only sound of her turning the page every so often. 

“Is it good?” he finally asked. 

“What?”

He nodded towards her book. 

“Your book. Is it good?”

“Oh. It’s okay. The plot is still building up.”

He fell silent again and she turned her focus - which was rapidly disappearing - back to the pages. 

“I used to read a lot,” Erik said. “But crime novels never particularly interested me.”

She dropped her book to her lap, staring at the wall across from her. 

“Erik,” she said evenly. “Is there something you want?”

“No, why?”

He looked confused. 

“Why are you here?”

“Why- why wouldn’t I be here?” he asked simply, innocently. 

She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, frustrated and exhausted. It had been a long and trying day, and although she had had fun during the afternoon and during dinner, she wanted some time to relax now. Erik was enjoyable to be around, and she cared for him, but she had been around him now for nearly two days straight with barely a moment to herself, and his constant presence was beginning to grate on her already frayed nerves. 

“I normally spend time alone in the evenings,” she told him. “Once my work is over. I had assumed that my job was over for the evening. Is it not?”

“It’s- yes?” 

He looked like he didn’t understand her question. 

“Then why are you still here?” she breathed, giving him a wide-eyed sidelong glare. 

His expression darkened. 

“Oh,” he said, standing up. “I didn’t realize my presence was bothering you. My apologies, _mademoiselle_ , but I didn’t realize you had already clocked out of your shift and were done acknowledging me until tomorrow morning.”

He bit the honorific out so it that sounded like a knife, a mockery of her status as a married woman who wasn’t actually married at all. 

“Erik,” she protested. “I’m tired! Please! It’s been a long day, I just want some time to myself!” 

“I had almost been so foolish as to believe you might want to speak with me or - heaven forbid! - spend time with your pathetic husband! Don’t worry, my dear, your arduous work is over for the day, and you’ll be paid very well for it at the end!”

He stormed out of the room and into the hallway, letting the door slam behind him, and she burst into tears, sliding down off the sofa. 

She was failing him. She was failing in him in his final months, and she didn’t know how to fix it. She turned and pressed her face to the sofa cushion, soaking it with her tears. 

That was how Erik found her when he came back a while later, when he sheepishly opened the door and had to creep by her to get to his room after he had finally cooled down from his anger. He froze when he saw her there on the floor, her back still shaking with her sobs, her hands white-knuckles and clutching at the blanket she had been sitting on. 

“Christine,” he breathed, running his hand through his hair. “What’s wrong?”

He stooped down and pulled her up to sit on the sofa again, an involuntary noise of effort leaving his lips. 

“Christine, don’t cry,” he fretted, pushing her hair out of her face and squeezing her shoulder. “I’m sorry...”

She looked at him miserably. She had to tell him. It was the only way to move past it. 

“I don’t know how to be with you, Erik.”

He looked stricken. 

“Are you changing your mind, then?” he tried to swallow around the lump forming in his throat. Was she leaving him?

“No, I don’t mean like that,” she wiped at her nose and eyes. “I mean- I just don’t know what you want from me.”

He sighed heavily, pulling away from her. 

“This was a bad idea,” he muttered. “We never should have done this.”

“Erik, no- it’s not that. I’m just- confused,” she sniffled. 

“About?” he asked softly. 

“Well...” she scooted a little closer to him. “When we were at the hospital, we each had roles to play, and I knew what to do. You were my patient. I was your nurse. I knew what was expected of me. If we were-“ she averted her eyes, her face coloring, “ _married_ , I would know what to do there too. We’re married but we’re not married, not exactly. You’re not my patient at the hospital, not anymore. And I feel so out of my depth here, Erik. I don’t know how to act around you.”

“Oh,” he said quietly. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she continued. “I just don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not trying to be cruel to you.”

She fidgeted with the pages of her book - she’d lost her place in it, the bookmark having fallen out in her fit. 

“Do you need a ‘list of duties’ like you’d get at a job?” he said it jokingly enough, but when she looked up at him she could tell he was truly offering. 

She sniffed a little. 

“Maybe. Would you be honest about you expect?”

“Of course,” he said it a little too fast, then added- “You may veto any item on the list, as well.”

“Mm, okay,” she nodded. “You write it up and I’ll look it over.”

“Okay,” he stood to go to his room and begin the list, but paused in the doorway. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, Christine. I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s not your fault.”

“Do you want to make a list too?” he asked uneasily. “What you want from me, or don’t want?”

“Erm, let me see your list first.”

He nodded and left. 

She took and deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling a hint of a headache brewing. She so badly wanted to be whatever he was hoping for, but she was afraid of losing herself in the process. At least it couldn’t be as bad as marrying Raoul - Erik only had six months. Six months of being a _wife_ , of putting her husband first, of ignoring her own comfort in favor of catering to his every whim. She thought, not for the first time, that perhaps after this she wouldn’t marry Raoul at all. She pushed the thought away immediately. That was a worry for a different day. Her worry right now was Erik - and what he would ask of her.

This was for the best, she decided. Still, she regretted snapping at him. It wasn’t his fault he was lonely and wanted someone to talk to, or that she was beyond tired and stressed. But at least now she would _know_ what he wanted of her - no surprises down the road, no more waiting for the other shoe to drop. She would know. Perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad, really. Erik was kind, and sweet. He’d never hurt her, not purposely. 

She closed her eyes, trying to think of anything she would definitely have to put her foot down about. She would agree to whatever he asked, she’d already decided - as long as it wasn’t too outlandish or too much. She’d known what a marriage entailed when she’d accepted his proposal, and though she had hoped she might avoid the more unpleasant aspects, she knew it was time to pay the piper, especially considering all he’d done for her. 

She stayed like that on couch for nearly an hour, just thinking, the soft glow of the lamp the only light in the room. She didn’t bother with her book, now. 

List in hand, Erik slowly entered the living room. He looked vaguely uncomfortable, like he was turning in a paper to a teacher for a test he hadn’t studied for. He approached and handed her a folded piece of paper. 

“We can discuss it tomorrow, if you wish,” he said, not making eye contact, and quickly turned to leave. 

She let him go, then opened the paper to read it. 

_Christine’s Expectations_

Her lips quirked into a smile at the header. 

_travel with Erik not only to destinations but also accompany him on daily outings_

_eat two meals a day with Erik, choice of meal at Christine’s discretion_

_perform any necessary medical tasks related to Erik’s health_

_pretend to enjoy Erik’s company for a minimum of five hours a day_

Her heart twisted. Pretend? 

_one conversation per day with Erik on something other than small talk_

_smile at Erik when saying goodnight_

_hold Erik’s hand while walking on outings, three minute minimum at least twice a week_

_allow Erik one hug per month, to be initiated and fulfilled by Christine at her own discretion and on her own timetable_

The list ended with his request for a hug. She dropped the paper down to the sofa, having to wipe at her eyes again as tears sprung up anew. Was this all he wanted? 

She stood and went over to his room, finding him nervously pacing the floor. He stopped and looked at her as she entered, and she suddenly realized he looked terrified. Terrified of being turned down, perhaps. Of being rejected. 

“You can veto any of them, Christine,” he told her as soon as she appeared. 

She just shook her head and approached him, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him. 

“I don’t have to pretend,” she said, and his arms soon found their way around her, too. 

He hugged her tightly to himself, and it broke her heart to feel how desperate that hug felt. Like how a drowning man out at sea might cling to a life raft. 

“We can make this work,” she whispered thickly. “This’ll work.”

Erik didn’t say anything, only held her. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t like you, or that I didn’t like spending time with you. It’s not true. I like you, Erik. I do. I’m just- I’m scared.”

“Of what?” he whispered. 

She laughed a little, but it sounded more frightened than humorous. 

“I’m scared of everything I guess. I’m scared of losing you. I’m scared of losing myself. I’m scared that I won’t be what you need me to be. I think you fell for the wrong person, Erik. I’m not terribly strong, or brave, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he told her, rubbing her back. “I love you, flaws and all, Christine - every imperfection and shortcoming. I don’t expect you to be everything to me, or to be perfect. I only expect you to be there beside me, and to be you.”

She sobbed into his chest. 

“I’m sorry I can’t be a wife to you,” she cried. “But I can be a friend. I’ll try to be a better friend - I don’t think I’ve been a very good one to you lately.”

He brushed her hair away from her face, and pulled her back enough to look into her eyes. 

“I would love to be friends with you, Christine,” he said tenderly. 

She gave him a watery smile, then sniffled. 

“You aren’t mad at me?”

“No. Never.”

She wiped at her eyes. 

“Thank you,” she sniffed. “I wish I could be more for you. You deserve- you deserve more.”

“You never have to be anything other than what you are, my dear, not with me.”

“Oh, Erik-“

She rested her head on his chest again. Did he really mean it? Were the things on his list really all he wanted from her, all he was expecting? Was that it? 

She felt his hand tentatively move from her shoulder to the back of her head, resting there a moment before gently running down the length of her hair. She could feel his breath stutter as he did so. 

How could she have ever believed that this man would make demands of her? That he would insist on his husbandly right? He was afraid to even touch her hair. He thought she’d want to veto _holding his hand_ as they walked somewhere. What kind of life had he known? 

“Are you sure?” she asked softly. “Are you sure that’s all you want? There’s so much more you could have asked for.”

“I’m sure there is more,” he said quietly. “But not for me. This is all I want, Christine. Just this. Just what I put on the list. That’s all I ask of you.”

“Well, I can do that.”

She stayed there a little while longer, just letting him hold her. It surprised her, how safe she felt there in his arms. Although he occasionally stroked her hair, he made no move to turn the embrace into anything else. 

At last she pulled back from him, and he let his arms drop from around her. 

“Are you okay?” she whispered, noticing how he appeared to be on the verge of tears. 

“I’m fine,” he said, a slight waver to his voice. 

“Are _we_ okay?”

He laughed and wiped a finger across each eye. 

“Yes,” he said, smiling. “I think we are.”

“I hope so,” she said gently. “Can we talk more tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.”

She hesitantly took a few steps backwards. She was exhausted and just wanted to lay down and rest, but she felt bad to leave him all by himself. He was probably still lonely, even though they had managed to set the groundwork for more comfortable future interactions. 

“Um, I guess I’ll be getting ready for bed now,” she said awkwardly. 

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Get some sleep, my dear.”

“Goodnight,” she said, then remembered what had been on his list. “Oh! Um-“

She gave him her most winning smile, and he chuckled. 

“Goodnight, dear.”

She turned to leave, pausing in the doorway. She ducked her head, one hand clutching the doorframe, glad that she was facing away from him so that he couldn’t see how hard she was blushing. 

“I’ll just be in my room, in case- if you- _need_ me.”

Perhaps she felt she could say it precisely because he hadn’t asked, because she felt he likely wouldn’t take her up on the offer. Perhaps she was disoriented to receive a list of such innocent requests when she had been bracing herself for so much more. Perhaps she had realized that having his body pressed so closely to her was not as unwelcome as she had thought it would be. She didn’t fully understand her own reasons for saying it, but she said it, all the same. 

But he seemingly missed any deeper meaning of what she’d told him, or, if he hadn’t, perhaps he was simply too overwhelmed at the moment, or too tired from the trip to take her up on the offer. 

“Sleep well,” was all he said. 

The door to her room, unlike the door to Erik’s guest room, had a lock on it. She did not lock her door that night. She didn’t even close her door, not fully. She wanted to be able to hear him if called out for help during the night - and she wanted to let him know that she didn’t find him an insufferable brute that she had to lock out of her room. 

After she’d finished dressing for bed, she sat on the edge of her bed a long moment, gazing at the sliver of dim light that came in through the crack of the door. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. 

He hadn’t even asked for a kiss. 

He had obviously expected that they would negotiate the list of expectations, obviously assumed that she would want to talk him down from his initial requests. Why hadn’t he asked for anything more? Wasn’t that how negotiation worked? She would have understood if he’d asked for more than what he really wanted so that what they eventually agreed upon would have seemed reasonable to both of them. But this? 

Her eyes watered just thinking of it. A hug once a month, smiles and conversation, to chastely hold her hand... Did he really think she’d object to that? That she’d refuse? 

She laid down and pulled the covers over her, her brow furrowing as she closed her eyes. Had she really made him feel that she wouldn’t even welcome a simple hug from him? The guilt was crushing. 

He could have asked for a kiss. She would have granted it, she thought. Should she offer that, initiate that? But he hadn’t asked for that. Did that mean he didn’t want it? Or was he just too afraid she’d say no? 

It made her a coward, she knew, but she didn’t want to be the one to bring it up to him. She would tolerate his kisses if he saw fit to kiss her, but she would not kiss him under her own volition and unprompted. If he wanted that, he would either have to ask, or to take it. 

Weren’t men supposed to take it?

She wondered if she would have left her door open had they not talked tonight, had he not explicitly spelled out exactly what he did - and didn’t - expect from her. 

She could still recall with striking detail the conversations she’d had with her Mamma Valerius, her father’s cousin, when she was a girl and then later a teen. She had always been close to her, thinking of her almost as a second mother, and there were conversations a young girl needed to have that were too awkward to be spoken between a girl and her father. 

Mamma Valerius had made no attempt to sugarcoat what Christine could expect from the changes her body would go through as she became teen, and when Christine was old enough, she had made no attempts to sugarcoat what she could expect from her wedding night, either. 

_”You have to be a good wife to your husband, Christine,” she explained. “He’ll probably want to do things you don’t want to, but that’s part of being a wife - making concessions to him like that. You’ll have to keep him happy. But it won’t be all bad! It usually doesn’t last very long, and you’ll get used to it, after a while. You might even find you come to enjoy it!”_

_Fourteen year old Christine sat and listened, ashen-faced. The things explained had not sounded enjoyable in the least._

_“What if I don’t want to?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper._

_Mamma looked momentarily disconcerted._

_“Lots of women don’t want to, at times,” she shrugged a little. “You can ask him not to, but- well, sometimes it’s better to just get it over with, I think.”_

_Christine shook her head. Her Mamma hadn’t quite understood her question._

_“No,” she said slowly. “I mean- what if I don’t want to, ever?”_

_Mamma frowned._

_“Life is difficult for a single woman, Christine,” she said gently. “You don’t have to marry if you don’t want to. But it really does make so many things easier, having a husband. It’s not as bad you’re thinking, I’m sure.”_

She’d spent the next three years insisting she’d never marry, only to receive patronizing smiles and shakes of the head and insistences that one day she would change her mind. Although Mamma Valerius tried her best to answer all of her questions, Christine had fretfully come to realize that she simply didn’t understand the questions she had been asking. 

_”What if- what I get married but I- I don’t like it?”_

_A small smile formed on Valerius’s lips._

_“Oh, that won’t happen, don’t worry,” she said._

_“But if it does - what would happen to me? Would I get divorced?”_

_“Good Lutherans don’t get divorced, Christine.”_

_“But if I have to stay married, do I have to keep- doing it? Even if I hate it?”_

_Mamma Valerius threw her hands up in the air._

_“Christine, I assure you that you will not hate it! Really, you bring up the strangest ideas sometimes! Trust me, it will work out fine.”_

Eventually, after never receiving an answer that took her concerns seriously, she stopped asking and instead began to focus her energy on how she might succeed in a man’s world while still being in control of her bodily autonomy. It had seemed a daunting task indeed, but then there was Raoul. Dear, sweet Raoul who made her laugh and always listened to her the first time when she told him to stop. She loved him, but none of the feelings that Mamma had assured her would come along with love ever showed up. Mamma had seemingly been right about one thing, however - she didn’t _hate_ Raoul’s touches or kisses. But they weren’t particularly enjoyable for her, either, not in the way she’d heard other girls giggle about. 

But things that were unwanted with other men might be... tolerable with Raoul, she had thought. It was seemingly the most she could hope for. She didn’t think she would ever like it, but at least with Raoul she didn’t think she would hate it. 

She didn’t think she would hate it with Erik, either, but she was not eager to find out in a hurry. It seemed he wasn’t in a hurry to find out, either. 

When she awoke the next morning, her door was just as she’d left it. She closed it just for a moment to have privacy as she dressed, and unfortunately that was when Erik emerged from his own room, completely oblivious to the fact that she’d slept with her door open. She found him in the little living room once she stepped out, dressed for the day. 

“Good morning,” she greeted as she approached him, holding her arms out to him. 

He stared dumbly at her as she first tried to reach her arms around his neck, but then, realizing he was too tall, settled for hugging him around his waist again. 

“Oh,” he said, letting his arms wrap around her hesitantly. “Is this next month’s hug early, then?”

He sounded terribly disappointed. 

“What? No!” she pulled back from him and wrinkled her nose. 

“Oh,” he looked confused now. “I thought maybe you wanted to get them all out of the way as soon as possible...”

Her face fell. 

“Well, would you prefer I only hug you once a month?” she asked. 

“No...”

He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, seemingly unsettled by her display of affection. 

“I just wasn’t expecting it,” he said at last, puzzled. 

“I’m-“ she looked down at her hands as she fidgeted with them. “I’m trying to be a better friend. Friends hug, sometimes.”

“Hmm. Indeed. Thank you.”

She didn’t mind hugging him, not now that she knew he wouldn’t take it as invitation for something more. 

“Did you sleep okay? Any congestion this morning?”

“I was okay. And just a little, but I’m fine. Do you want to get breakfast now?”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I think we still have some things from last night to talk about, too.”

She grabbed her purse and in a moment they were out the door, still a little tired but ready to start the first part of their adventure together.


	11. Chapter 11

Erik found a place nearby that he assured her was delicious. 

“I used to live very close to here,” he told her. “I’d come here for breakfast all the time.”

After the waiter left them to prepare their food, they were left in mildly awkward silence. She cleared her throat. 

“I think we should talk about last night,” she said sheepishly. 

“Okay,” he agreed, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “Have you- did you change your mind on anything?”

“Oh, no! It’s not like that- I just meant, well, you got to lay out what you wanted, and I was _hoping_ that we could discuss what _I_ wanted...”

“Oh! But of course!”

He looked relieved. 

“I really do regret how I acted last night, Erik. I don’t want to act like that again with you, but-“

“But?”

She shifted nervously. 

“I don’t mean to be grumpy, but I’m very used to my schedule. I stick to it very rigorously - I’ve had to, to keep sane and calm with my kind of work... I keep one hour at night for silence, and I prefer to have an hour of silence in the morning, too. When I don’t get that silence, that time to recharge - I get grumpy.”

“Hmm. I noticed,” he teased, and she blushed. 

“So _my_ request is that I have those two hours just to myself - even if you see me in a shared room, even if I look like I’m not busy or doing anything - I’d just like a little alone time.”

“Okay,” he said, a little doubtful. 

“It’s nothing to do with you,” she insisted. “It’s not about avoiding you or anything. I just- I like some quiet down time. That’s all.”

“I can do that.”

The waiter brought them breakfast, a large egg and spinach quiche to split. 

“Um,” she fiddled with her fork. “And also- my, uh- my music lessons?”

She couldn’t meet his eye, too embarrassed to do so. She felt silly for asking for her lessons so soon after telling him she wanted time spent apart, but he had _promised_ her music back when he had proposed. 

He laughed. 

“Three times a week, how does that sound? As an average, that is. We can do a little more if we’re both feeling up to it, or a little less if need be.”

“That sounds very good,” she looked up and smiled at him. 

“I’m quite glad.”

They ate their breakfast with small talk about the food, until Erik brought something up. 

“Is there anything else?”

She blinked. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well... You only asked for some quiet time, and for the singing lessons which I already promised you. Isn’t there anything you wish to ask for? Anything you wish to... avoid?”

She chewed slowly on her bite of quiche, avoiding his eye. Was there anything else she wanted?

“I don’t need very much,” she admitted. “I think that’s it.”

Two days ago she would have had some serious requests of what he refrain from doing, but those hardly seemed so serious now. 

“Seriously?” he asked, incredulous. “That’s it?”

She chuckled a little. 

“You seem so surprised that I have no demands to make of my marriage - I didn’t realize that was a thing wives could do,” she teased. 

“I want this to be a partnership, Christine,” he replied, serious. “Of course I want to hear what you want.”

She considered. 

“I want you to not wear your mask all the time,” she said at last, quietly. 

His eyes widened. 

“Or if you must, wear your house mask when you’re in the hotel room. I know the one you have on now hurts you, but I really don’t mind how you look, Erik. I don’t want you to hurt yourself for my sake.”

He looked down at his plate, flustered. 

“And I want us to be honest with each other,” she added shyly. “In case- in case down the road one of us wants something different, or changes their mind on something. Okay?”

“Okay.”

They finished their breakfast, Erik sighing after he paid the bill. 

“I suppose it’s time, then,” he said, oddly resigned. 

“Time for what?”

“Time to be going, my dear.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there,” he said easily. 

He hailed a taxi and told the driver where he wanted to go, but Christine didn’t understand a word they both said. 

Erik seemed nervous about wherever they were going, though. 

Soon the driver dropped them off in what seemed to her to be a random area, and Erik payed and thanked him. 

There was a little store that sold flowers nearby, and Erik headed straight to this. She eyed him curiously as he bought three red roses. 

He was mysteriously silent as they began to walk down the old cobblestone pathway, but after a moment he held his hand out to her, giving her a look that was hopeful but hiding some old, deep hurt. He had the posture of someone going into confrontation, and she wanted to comfort him. She took his hand. 

She’d thought he’d relax after she’d held his hand, assuming his vague fear was about her refusing to do so - but instead he still looked rather uncomfortable even after, and realized that his feelings must caused by something that was still ahead of him. 

He led them to a cemetery. It was a veritable labyrinth of headstones and monuments, but he traversed it as though he knew exactly where he was going. They passed dozens of headstones of various age, some newer, some covered in moss and faded with age. Finally he stopped in front of one large headstone. Next to it was another plot with a marble statue of an angel. 

She could just make out the first name under all the moss - Giovanni. 

Erik stared at the headstone, and Christine kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt his moment. His hand squeezed hers a little tighter. 

“He was like a father to me,” he said at last. “He was the closest I had to real family.”

“Oh?” 

She took a step closer to him. 

“I came to work for him when I was a young man,” he explained. “I left my mother when I was fifteen, and I wandered around for a while... And eventually I ended up here. It just started off as a regular job, doing paperwork and crunching numbers - it paid well, and I was exceptionally good with numbers. I couldn’t believe my luck, that no one local wanted to do it.”

He laughed a little before continuing. 

“I guess all the locals didn’t want to get caught up in his _family business_. They knew better. But he took me under his wing. He was kind to me. He never asked about-“ he gestured to his mask, and shook his head. “I moved up in the ranks. I was good at it all. A natural, he said. I did a lot for him, and his _family_ , as it were. Business associates, you could say.”

Christine was becoming increasingly aware that he really hadn’t been joking when he’d said he was in the mafia. 

“He thought of me like a son, for a while,” his voice wavered. “At least he told me that he did.”

He placed one of the roses at the base of the headstone. 

“I did all of his correspondence, too, you know. And one day, I tried to tell him about a personal letter that had come, but he was very busy. He wouldn’t hear me. _Open it yourself, answer it yourself_ , he told me. So I did. It was from his daughter.”

A smile briefly floated across his face. 

“Luciana, his daughter. She was studying abroad, and she’d written to her father. Well, he told me to answer it, so I did. I wrote to Luci and told her about how busy her father was, and explained who I was, the usual snark of my younger years just dripping from the whole thing,” he chuckled. “And she wrote back! She wrote to me. And she was the wittiest, sharpest creature on earth, and I was _smitten_. We wrote to each other for a year, as often as we could. She’d fallen in love with me - she _thought_ she’d fallen in love with me. She was in love with the _idea_ of me. Not the reality of me.”

He fell silent, and Christine didn’t push him to continue even though she was aching to know how the story ended. 

“She couldn’t love the real me, not when I was in front of her, not when I wasn’t just words on a page. She came back, after she’d graduated university, and we finally met. We had planned to get married when she came back... And she wanted to see- underneath,” he waved at his face again, his eyes looking watery. “I’d told her in a letter, but I guess she thought I was joking. We told each other some great jokes. But she didn’t believe me about _this_.”

He cleared his throat, and Christine braced herself for the tragic turn she knew the story was about to take. 

“She pulled my mask off and _screamed_ ,” he admitted in a hushed tone. “She told me I was disgusting, that she hated me for making her love me - _tricking_ her into loving me - that she never wanted to see me again. I tried to calm her down and explain, but she told me that she wanted me gone, and that if I ever came back, she’d have Giovanni kill me.”

“Oh,” Christine felt her eyes sting and she blinked hard. 

“I don’t know what she said to Giovanni, but he was very cold to me the next day, and he disowned me. Sent me away. But what I do know is that Luciana burned all the letters I’d sent her, and that she got married to another man just a few months later. And I heard she died a couple years after that. I don’t even know why, or how. I tried to contact Giovanni about her, afterwards, but all I got in return was a request that I leave him alone on the subject. I never heard from him again.”

He placed the second rose on the grave under the angel statue, and Christine noticed the name _Luciana_ engraved at the base of the statue. 

“Do you think she’d forgive me?” he asked, his voice thick with tears. “Do you think she’d forgive me for coming back here, when she’d told me to never come back?”

She hugged his arm, resting her head against him as she looked down at the poor woman Erik had loved, and who had broken his heart. 

“I think so,” she whispered. “I think she would.”

“I stayed away for nearly thirty years... But in the end I couldn’t even honor her wishes because of my own damn weakness and selfishness-“

His voice broke and he bowed his head, unable to continue. He brought a hand up hide his face, but he couldn’t disguise the shake of his shoulders that gave away the fact that he was sobbing. 

She squeezed his arm, completely at a loss. 

“She would understand, Erik,” she murmured to him. “She would understand. After all this time- surely she would see it differently now. You don’t have to feel guilty.”

He sniffled and turned from her, breaking her clasp on his arm, and he removed his mask to wipe his sleeve across his face. When he turned back to her, his mask was back in place. 

“I wish I could have done better back then,” he said quietly, staring at the headstone. “I wish things could have gone differently.”

“You did the best you could at the time, I’m sure,” she said weakly. 

He sighed and turned to walk back the way they had come. Christine followed after him. She glanced back one last time at the angel statue. It was so strange to think of Erik being in a relationship with someone else. She was ashamed to admit, but it hadn’t occurred to her. Maybe that was why he didn’t grudge her for having Raoul waiting for her at home - he, too, was holding someone else in his heart, even still. 

Once they passed through the gates of the cemetery, he stopped and turned to her. She paused next to him, and he held the last rose out to her. Her eyes widened when she realized he really meant for her to take it. 

“There’s only been three people I’ve ever truly loved,” he said softly as she carefully took the rose from him and held it in her hands like a wedding bouquet. “Giovanni, Luciana, and you.”

She looked down at her feet, cradling the rose in her hands. 

“Do you still love her?”

The whispered words were out before she could stop them. 

Erik looked a surprised a moment, then his expression softened. 

“I think we always love the people who were dear to us, even when they’re gone,” he said simply, and she nodded. 

They walked on down the path, somewhat aimlessly, until they came to a gelato shop. Erik ordered for them both after Christine said he could pick a flavor for her. 

“ _Limoncello_ ,” he told her, handing her a cup as they sat at a table on the patio. “That was Luci’s favorite.”

Christine said nothing as she dug the tiny spoon into the pale yellow frozen custard and tasted it. She felt strange thinking about Luciana, and she didn’t know why. She wondered if she would have gotten along with her, or if she’d feel awkward around her.

“Tell me more about her,” she asked, and hoped she wouldn’t regret learning. 

“She was my first love,” he said, keeping his eyes on his own gelato cup. The tiny spoon looked comical in his large, spindly hand. “We were going to get married and travel the world, after she’d completed her studies. Her degree was in art. She was a painter. Very talented.”

“Oh.”

If she didn’t know better, she’d say the feeling was akin to jealousy. 

She glanced up from her dessert to study him. It was strange to think about the possibilities of what could have been had Luciana not snatched his mask away, or had she been able to accept his face. They likely would have married, just like Erik said they’d would have. Would they still be married even now? Would Erik be a father? 

It suddenly struck her that any hypothetical child of his might be nearly the same age as herself. She didn’t know how to feel about that. 

If he had been with Luciana, would he have been happy? Would he have taken better care of himself, gone to the doctor regularly? His problems would have been caught much sooner, and they could have been controlled. 

She bit the plastic spoon, nibbling on the end of it and worrying her tongue over the bite marks. 

If Erik’s child had been the same age as her, it wouldn’t be unheard of to have a child of their own at this age. Erik could have been a grandfather by now. 

She furrowed her brow at the thought of it. 

How different his life could have been. A wife who loved him, children, grandchildren, family trips... Instead, he had a marriage on paper only, and a nurse to keep an eye on him who he felt compelled to ask to pretend to like him. 

“When she broke up with me- it was a very dark time for me, after,” he admitted, then hesitated before continuing. “I went to a psychoanalyst.”

He let the words hang in the air a moment before gathering the courage to look at her. 

“Do you think that’s strange?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “No, it’s not strange.”

He nodded a little, seemingly comforted by her words. 

“I went to him every week for three years,” he said. “We talked a lot. He helped me to see things better.”

“Meg wanted me to go to one after Papa died,” she said quietly. “I didn’t. But I probably should have.”

“It can be hard,” he said. “Admitting you need help.”

“That was very brave of you. I’m glad you got help, Erik.”

“I am, too,” he said, toying with his now empty paper cup. “I found a lot of solace in what he told me, but as for how things ended with Luci... I still wish it could have been different. And I thought, coming here now... I thought I could finally get closure.”

“Did you?”

He stared off in the distance for a long time. 

“Maybe giving up the need for closure is a kind of closure in itself,” he said at last. “No closure can be closure, too, I think.”

She ate the last bites of her gelato, not certain what to say. 

She didn’t want to be Luciana to him. She didn’t want to leave him wondering what he’d done wrong, thinking there was something wrong with him, something intrinsically flawed and unlovable. He was a good man, and he needed to know that. 

“I’m sorry, Erik,” she whispered. 

He shook his head. 

“It doesn’t matter now, I suppose. But- I don’t want to make the same mistakes with you. I don’t- I don’t want to _trick_ you. I want you to be here because _you_ want to be here.”

“You didn’t trick Luciana, and you didn’t trick me. And I want to be here,” she insisted. “I do want to be here with you, Erik. I know I’m not-“ she glanced away, pausing. “I know I haven’t made it very clear, but I chose to be here. You didn’t trick me, or force me.”

“I hope so,” he whispered, his voice wavering. 

She mulled the conversation over in her mind as they went on their way down the road. The taste of limoncello still lingered in her mouth, reminding of her of that tart other woman who still held his heart. She clutched the rose to her chest, reminding herself that she, too, held part of his heart, and that she mustn’t be careless with it. 

“I thought about being buried here,” he said softly after a long moment. “In the same graveyard. With them.”

Her heart skipped a beat. It was unsettling to hear him talk about it, but she knew it would come at some point. 

“There’s room, you know. On the other side of Giovanni... Or on the other side of Luci... But I think that one is being saved for her husband. I wouldn’t take up much space - just an urn. Except-“ he hesitated. “I don’t think they’d want me there. Any of them. Not Giovanni, or Luci - or her husband. I don’t belong there with them, not really. It was just wishful thinking.”

She swallowed hard. She knew she needed to ask him where he wanted to be buried, but she couldn’t force her tongue to form the words. She couldn’t say it because to say it was to admit that it was going to happen. Her Erik could never be in an urn, no, not him. 

She glanced up at him, scooting closer to his side as they walked on. He seemed far too alive to be thinking of such things, but she knew from experience how quickly that illusion could fade. 

It was harrowing, knowing that he had no one else in the world but her. 

When the day was over and she bid Erik goodnight with a smile, she settled into her room for her quiet time, only to realize she’d never called Raoul to let him know she’d arrived in Rome. 

She guiltily dialed the phone number and listened to it ring. At last he answered. 

“Hello?”

“I’m sorry!” she blurted out. 

“Christine! Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, I’m sorry! I just- I was so tired, and everything here was so busy-“

“I was worried sick about you! Anything could have happened! Your plane could have crashed-“

“I know,” she winced. 

“Erik could have murdered you-“

“Well _that_ one couldn’t have happened,” she insisted with a frown. 

“First not seeing me before you leave, and now this-“

“I saw you before I left...”

“Lotte, what spell does he have you under? It’s like you’ve forgotten everything that’s really important here!”

She paused, trying to form the words in her mind. 

Erik was important. She knew Raoul was important and it was important to not let him worry, and she loved him and it was important to keep in touch and keep him updated, but _Erik was important too_. And not just because he was leaving his fortune to her - he was important because he mattered, because he was kind and sweet and he had been overlooked for _so long_ in his life, and he deserved a bit of attention now. That was important. 

“I- I’m sorry-“ she stuttered, thinking to tell him off but leaving it at an apology. 

“Is everything really okay?”

“Yes! Oh, you would have hated it at the airport - they lost our luggage for a while, but it was on the wrong flight. Anyway-“

She filled him in on everything except the fight between her and Erik, and the truce between her and Erik - and what Erik had told her about how he loved her. As far as Raoul was concerned, it was a normal trip that had gotten off to a rough start. By the end of the call, things had been mostly patched up between them, with the promise that she would call more often. 

She went to sleep that night feeling strangely unhappy, her door closed but not locked, and Erik’s rose on her nightstand. 

Erik spent the next three days showing her around the areas he used to frequent as a young man, bookstores and cafes and parks and trees he was particularly fond of sitting under. 

“Oh, I wish we could have known each other back then, Christine,” he said wistfully, his eyes sparkling with nostalgia as they strolled in the park where he’d first begun writing Don Juan Triumphant. 

She wrinkled her nose. 

“I wasn’t even born back then, Erik.”

He cringed. 

“No, but _pretend_ -“

“I wouldn’t be born for another five years.”

He groaned and put a hand over his face. 

“Don’t say things like that!”

She ducked her head and snickered. 

“What would we have done back then?” she asked. 

“Oh, _everything_.”

“We would have been different people,” she reminded him with a smile. “Our lives shaped us and brought us to this point. We wouldn’t have been the _us_ we know now if we’d met back then. We might not even have liked each other!”

He shook his head. 

“No,” he said. “No, I think we would have hit it off, even then. I think no matter when or where it was, we were destined to meet. We’d be drawn to each other, no matter what, in any time or universe.”

“That’s what you think?” she tilted her head as she glanced up at him. 

“It is,” he smiled warmly. “Destiny binds us together forever.”

“Hm!” 

“You could have been my Aminta on my album,” he told her, grinning. 

Her face colored. 

“Who was she, anyhow?”

He shrugged. 

“I never even saw her in person, my dear, there’s no reason to be jealous,” he chuckled, and she gasped theatrically at his accusation. “One of the producers found her, and she and I spoke over the phone a few times. She recorded her lines in a different studio and they sent the tracks to me, and I dubbed them in to the music.”

She pressed her lips together. She’d be lying to say she’d never fantasized about being Aminta. 

He lifted a finger up as though something just occurred to him. 

“Remind me, my dear, that I must make a phone call when we return for the night.”

But she didn’t have to remind him, because he still remembered after their dinner out, and after they were settled in to their room, Erik sat on the couch and picked up the phone, wiggling his finger for Christine to come and sit by him. 

She looked at him, curious, but he offered no clue of who he was calling as he dialed then waited, motioning for Christine to sit even closer so she could hear too, both of them listening to it ring on the other end. At last someone answered, a man’s voice saying “ _Hello?_ ”, and Erik smirked.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone following this story <3

“Have you missed me, good Monsieur?” Erik purred into the phone. 

“Charles Carrière, you son of a bitch,” the man said on the phone. “I thought you were dead. Where the hell have you been?”

Erik chuckled, his voice deep, and Christine had to suppress a shiver. 

“I thought I was out of the music business,” Erik replied. “But something has changed my mind.”

He glanced sidelong at Christine, and she blushed. 

“Now, Gerard, I would like to introduce you to my darling Christine Daaé-“ he turned the phone to Christine expectantly. 

“H-hello,” she said nervously. 

“She’s a singer with a great deal of promise and talent, and I want her to have-“ he leaned towards her, “Christine, how many many albums do you wish to do?”

She blinked. 

“I don’t know.”

“I want her to have as many albums as her little heart desires, do you understand me?” he commanded into the phone again. 

“A new singer? When do you want her to start recording?”

“Ahh, hm. She will get in touch with you when she’s ready to record. Here, listen to this-“

Her eyes widened as the phone was held up to her face. 

“ _Sing_ ,” Erik instructed her. 

Her face turned red, and she hesitated. 

“Sing _Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again_ ,” he prompted, mentioning a song Aminta sang in _Don Juan Triumphant_.

She took a deep breath and began to sing, and after a minute he pulled the phone back. 

“Well?” he said smugly. “What do you think?”

Gerard was silent a long moment. 

“She’s beautiful,” he said at last. 

“She hasn’t even had a chance to warm up, this is nothing compared to her real voice.”

Christine was embarrassed, both at the man’s compliments and Erik’s insistence that she was even better. 

“Now,” Erik continued. “In a few months she’s going to be contacting you, and you’re going to do every last thing she asks of you. You will work tirelessly to bring her dreams to reality, do you hear me?”

“Alright, alright, I heard you the first time. She’s got the deal. Fifty albums or whatever.”

“Excellent, my good man. We will be in touch.”

Erik hung up the phone. 

“My dear,” he turned to her. “You said once you were going to write a thesis on my albums, tell me - do you remember Gerard?”

Her brow furrowed, then she gasped. 

“Oh, that was your producer! At the record label!”

“And now he’s your producer, too,” he smiled, and she clapped her hands over her mouth. “When you’re ready, after everything is... settled, you simply give him a call and he will take care of all the arrangements, and you will become a star. As simple as that.”

“Oh Erik - I can scarcely believe it! Thank you!”

They talked a little more before Erik reminded her that it was nearly time for her quiet time, and she was about to go to her room when she suddenly turned and hugged him before she could think too much about it. 

He wasted no time in hugging her back, embracing her as though he never wanted to let her go. But let her go he did, as soon as she began pull back. 

“Thank you, Erik,” she whispered, looking up at him. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

He carefully raised a hand to cradle her cheek in the gentlest of touches, lasting only a second. 

“You’d be in Rouen, at the hospital,” he said, smiling wryly. 

She laughed and shook her head. 

“Goodnight,” she told him as she headed towards her room, giving him one last smile. 

“Goodnight, my dear.”

She picked up the phone in her room to call Raoul, but when he answered, she suddenly realized the piece of news she’d wanted to share was likely one he wouldn’t like hearing. 

“Hi Raoul,” she said softly. 

“Lotte,” he replied warmly. “I miss you.”

“Miss you too.”

She wished she could tell him about the record deal, but she knew it was still a sore spot. He didn’t want her to sing, but surely he would come around, eventually. Singing was so very dear to her, and it pained her to not be able to share that news with him. It felt like having to hide a piece of her soul. 

She told him, instead, small anecdotes about things she’d seen, and little updates about what she was doing. 

“We’re going to the opera tomorrow,” she told him. 

He was oddly quiet for a moment. 

“Do you wish I could take you to the opera?” he eventually asked. 

“What?”

“All I’ve ever taken you to is the movies... I’d have taken you to the opera if you’d asked me. I can afford it, you know.”

She chewed at her lip. 

“ _He_ wants to go to the opera, Raoul. I love our movie dates, you know that.”

“But I could take you to the opera, too.”

She raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m sure you could. I never said you couldn’t.”

“Where else is he taking you?”

Her jaw tightened. This wasn’t a competition. 

“The park. A museum. Both free, but he did buy me an ice cream, though I don’t think you have to worry too much about that because you’ve bought me ice cream before, too.”

He huffed. 

“I’ve got to go, Lotte, I have to get to work early tomorrow.”

“Okay. Bye.”

She hung up the phone, feeling surprisingly hurt. It wasn’t the first time she’d tried to share something with Raoul only for him to take it the wrong way, even before Erik had become involved, but never had it stung quite like it did now. 

Luckily the next day she managed to forget all about Raoul, too absorbed in her opera date with Erik. 

She took the time to pin her hair up into an elegant twist, a style she’d never worn before. She felt a little self conscious at first, wondering if it was too much, but when she saw how Erik’s eyes focused on it immediately as she left her room, she knew she’d made the right choice. 

“You look very lovely tonight, Christine,” he said, his voice grave, as though he were discussing matters of the utmost importance. 

Her cheeks turned pink. 

“Thank you,” she glanced away. “You look quite handsome, as well.”

He scoffed, but didn’t refute it past that. 

But she thought it was the truth - his tuxedo had embroidery across the lapels, subtle yet stylish, and the black buttons on his waistcoat sparkled when the light caught them just right. 

Her own evening gown was a deep blue, cut modestly in the front but deeply in the back, with a small pool of fabric at the bottom that nearly touched the floor. She clutched her little clamshell purse with her white gloved hands as she glanced in the mirror one last time before they departed. They made a very good looking couple, she thought. 

Erik was, as always, an exquisite gentleman, taking care that she made it up the stairs without stepping on her own dress, and offering her his arm. After the show was over, he took her out for a late dinner where they laughed and talked about the performance they’d just seen. 

She squeezed her hands on his arm as he walked them to the taxi he’d called, leaning against him just slightly and looking up at the stars. They’d had white wine with their food, and though Erik had only had one glass, she’d ended up having two. The world felt fuzzy and warm. They were both quiet as they were driven back to the hotel, though she left her hands idly on his arm and he allowed it. 

“Tonight was wonderful, Erik,” she said as they entered their room. “I loved it.”

“I’m glad,” he smiled, putting an arm out as she swayed just slightly. “But I think you had a little too much to drink tonight.”

She wrinkled her nose. 

“No!” she sat heavily on the couch with a huff. “It’s these shoes, I’m not used to wearing heels like this.”

He chuckle deeply as he watched her kick her heels off, his eyes lingering on her bare feet. 

“You’re not used to drinking in heels, you mean.”

“I’m not drunk! Erik, I’m hardly even tipsy!”

“Go sleep it off, my dear,” he teased. “We only have four days left in Rome.”

He departed for his bedroom, and she headed for hers. Once there, she nearly picked up the phone to call Raoul, but thought the better of it. She felt good right now, and didn’t want anything to change that. The opera had been lovely, dinner had been lovely, Erik was lovely - the night had been complete. She unpinned her hair and washed the makeup from her face and went to sleep with a smile. 

When she awoke, it didn’t escape her notice that she’d forgotten to close her door. It also didn’t escape her notice that Erik very clearly hadn’t been in her room. She rubbed at her face as she realized those two glasses of wine might have been stronger than she’d originally thought. Still, her blankets were just as she’d piled them around herself the previous night, and nothing seemed out of place. She blinked a few times, wondering. Erik hadn’t even _tried_. She couldn’t help but wonder how the night would have gone with Raoul, if she’d had his ring on her finger and been mildly intoxicated and slightly unsteady. She thought she knew him well enough to trust that he’d never force her into anything, but he certainly would have _asked_ , especially if they were married. She wasn’t used to being around a man like Erik. He defied her expectations at nearly every turn. 

She closed her door and dressed, finding him in the shared room once she entered it. 

“Good morning, dear,” he greeted her. “I’m sorry last night ate into your quiet time. I didn’t intend for it to do so.”

She smiled kindly at him. 

“It’s okay. I didn’t mind.”

Their day of outings was cut short by a surprised thunderstorm in the afternoon. Back in the hotel, she had insisted that he not wear his mask, concerned about how long he had been wearing it recently. 

She smiled at him as he cautiously took it off, then smiled more as a blush crept across his sunken cheeks. 

She ended up reading a book on the couch after a little while, after Erik had left for his own room, seemingly too overwhelmed by how she was able to look at his unmasked face and still carry on a conversation. 

But he seemed unable to keep away from her, even still. He walked through the shared room occasionally, not quite looking at her or speaking to her, quickly retreating to his own room when she glanced up at him. At last he came and stood in the doorway from his room, and she could tell from the way he was nearly moping and staring at her that he wanted something. She closed her book. 

“What is it?” she asked, her voice gentle. 

He looked surprised to be noticed, and then slightly guilty. He was remarkably bad at hiding his expressions, probably from a lifetime of never having to. 

“I was wondering... Since you’re a nurse... If you could- if you could do like a- a check up on me,” he mumbled, not meeting her eye. 

She stared at him a moment. 

“Yes,” she said. “I could. Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did something happen to make you feel you need a checkup?”

“Oh! Oh... Yes... I had, uh,” his brow knit. “Uhh, a heart palpitation.”

“Oh, well - come sit here. I’ll be right back.”

He eagerly sat down, crossing his legs and folding his hands together over his knee. She returned in a moment with her medical bag and settled on the couch next to him. 

“Hold your arm out,” she instructed, and put a blood pressure cuff around it. 

It was a little high, but that was to be expected. She got out her stethoscope and put it in her ears. 

“Unbutton the first two buttons, please,” she nodded towards his shirt, and his hands jumped up to comply with her request, his fingers shaking slightly. 

She tried to warm the metal chest-piece between her hands before placing it on his skin, but he still flinched when she pressed against him. 

“Your heart’s so fast,” she murmured. “Are you nervous?”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his wide-eyed gaze. 

“No,” he breathed, but she could tell otherwise. 

She moved the stethoscope to a different place on his chest, still maintaining eye contact. She pressed it against his chest, letting her hand brush softly across his skin. He sucked in a breath and looked away, and suddenly Christine realized. 

This wasn’t about having her check up on his health. This was about him wanting her to touch him. 

A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind in the span of a second. 

It felt oddly inappropriate, at first. And then suddenly - it didn’t. He’d probably gone a lifetime with very little human contact. He just wanted his wife to touch him, but he was too shy or embarrassed to ask, so this was the only way he knew how. They were married, but even if they weren’t, there was nothing lewd about how she was touching him, even if he was thinking of it in other terms. 

Her surprise faded, and in its wake, there was only a tender sense of compassion. 

“Turn around,” she said, her voice soft. “I need to listen to your lungs.”

Her hand slipped up underneath of the thin linen of his shirt, just to one side of his spine. His shoulders stiffened and he flinched away from her touch before holding himself incredibly still. He hadn’t been expecting her to listen from underneath the shirt. 

“Erik, I can’t hear your lungs if you’re not breathing,” she chided gently, her lips pulling into a wry smirk. 

“Oh,” he exhaled, but held his breath again. 

She reached her other hand out and placed it on his shoulder, squeezing just a little. 

“Breathe normally,” she reminded him. 

He attempted to do so, and she heard the familiar hint of a rattle that he was expecting to be there, but it wasn’t any worse than it had been in France. 

She lingered on each side of his back just slightly longer than was necessary, finally removing her hand and turning him back to face her again. 

“Everything sounds okay,” she murmured, bringing her hand up to touch his face, first cupping his cheek and then pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

He dropped his gaze, unable to continue looking at her, leaning his face into her touch despite desperately trying not to. 

“Did it only happen once?” she asked, letting her hand come to rest on his shoulder. 

“Did what happen?” he glanced up, brow creased. 

“Your heart palpitation,” she smiled. 

“Oh!” he cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Just once. Like a skipped beat.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t hear anything out of the ordinary. I think you’ll be okay. Will you tell me if it happens again?”

“If what happens agai- oh,” he looked embarrassed. “Yes, I’ll tell you.”

“Do you need anything else?” she asked, studying his face closely. “Do you want anything else?”

He stared into her eyes a moment and she thought he truly was going to ask. But he shook his head a little.

“No,” he whispered. “Just this.”

She let her hand slide off of his shoulder. 

“Okay,” she said. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely as he quickly stood from the couch, buttoning up his shirt again as he headed out of the room. 

Even with his presence removed, the room still crackled with an odd sort of electricity. She’d been touching him because he had wanted it, but she was surprised to find that towards the end, she had almost enjoyed it herself. 

She chided herself. She’d enjoyed knowing that he had enjoyed it, that was all. She was a medical professional. She didn’t gain _feelings_ from touching her patients. 

Unable to focus on anything else for the night, she went to her own room, but still couldn’t escape the odd tension. What was this feeling? 

She dressed for bed and curled up under the covers, pulling the phone over to her and dialing Raoul’s number. 

“Raoul,” she sighed into the receiver when he answered. 

“Hey Lotte. What’s up?”

“Raoul...” she squirmed a little, trying to find a more comfortable position. “Tell me what you would do if I was there with you right now...”

“Aw geeze, Lotte, I don’t know,” he sounded confused by her request. “I mean, I’m watching a movie on tv right now, so I guess I’d share some of my popcorn with you?”

She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, frowning. 

“Oh,” was all she said. 

She asked what the movie was, and if he was enjoying it, and then she bid him goodnight, weirdly annoyed. That feeling she’d had after being with Erik was gone, utterly destroyed by Raoul’s complete obliviousness. 

She couldn’t blame him, she supposed. She could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d instigated anything with him over the course of their engagement, preferring to leave all that to him, preferring to be a passive participant. 

She closed her eyes and sighed. What had she wanted him to do to her? She wasn’t even sure, but it certainly had nothing to do with popcorn. She was no stranger to concept of what a couple could do together, but she felt a longing that was so unfamiliar to her deep in her bones, and she wasn’t sure what it signified. 

She wanted his arms around her, she knew that. She wanted him to touch her gently, lightly, like she’d touched Erik. Maybe he would kiss her neck, just once or twice. That might feel good. She’d never been one to fantasize about much else than a nice home that she didn’t owe money on or a beautiful dress or good dinner, but this scenario in her mind now was... pleasant. 

Her eyes flew open when she realized the man in her dreams who had been holding her so tenderly was not Raoul. She swallowed hard. It didn’t mean anything, surely - of course she was thinking of Erik right now, she’d just shared that very strange experience with him. That didn’t mean much. She was in love with Raoul, he was the one she should be fantasizing about. 

Yet every time she tried to think of him, all she could picture was him stuffing his face with popcorn and giving her a confused look. 

She sat up in bed, chewing on her lip. Should she go get Erik? Would it feel nice to be held by him? Would that feeling come back if he touched her? 

She flopped back down with a deep sigh. She was being ridiculous. Erik had wanted her to check his heart and she had. No further action was needed from any of them. If he had wanted more, he could have asked for it. But he didn’t. 

She tried to push the incident from her mind and eventually she fell asleep. 

She didn’t call Raoul the next day, or the next or the day after that. Soon she was busy packing for the next trip, and simply didn’t have time to contact him. After the strange incident, things had gone back to normal between her and Erik, and it moved to the very back of her mind. She had other things to focus on. 

On the plane ride, Erik didn’t mention her fear of heights, but he nonchalantly left his hand open on her armrest before the flight took off. She furrowed her brow, not wanting to burden him with her fears. 

It wasn’t fair. He was the one with real problems. He shouldn’t have to coddle her and comfort her - she should be the one looking out for him. She swallowed hard and took his hand anyway, grateful for the gentle pressure and the sweep of his thumb. 

After the plane leveled out and his humming faded away, he began to chatter away, perhaps hoping to distract her. 

“I’m rather excited about this next part,” he told her. 

“Oh?”

“I’ve never been to Greece, but I’ve always wanted to go. Past Rome, we’ll be going to all new places for me. Are you excited too?”

“Yes,” she agreed. 

He squeezed her hand a little and smiled at her. 

“I’m excited to see them with you,” he said warmly, and her cheeks turned pink. 

Once they were in Greece, she ended up not even thinking about Raoul for nearly three days. The realization of how much time had passed made her feel guilty, but Erik really did dominate her time and attention most of the day. Time had simply gotten away from her, finding his company more pleasurable than having to face her jilted fiancé over the phone. She waited a full day after realizing how long it had been since they’d talked before finally gathering the courage to call. 

She finally sat down on the edge of her bed, steadying her nerves. Through the open door that connected their two rooms, she could hear Erik puttering about in his own room as she dialed. 

She twisted the phone cord around her finger as she listened to it ring. 

“Hello?”

Raoul’s voice filtered through the phone and her heart skipped a beat. How she’d missed his voice! She hadn’t even realized until just now. Did he miss her too? 

“Hi,” she said simply. “It’s me.”

“Christine!”

“I missed you!”

“Did he kick the bucket yet?”

“Raoul! Don’t say it like that!” she cringed. 

“Well did he?”

“No.”

“Oh. I thought maybe that was why you hadn’t called, because you were busy with funeral arrangements,” he sounded disappointed. 

“No,” she hung her head a little. “We’ve just been... busy.”

“Oh,” his tone turned sour. “Has he bedded you yet?” 

Her face flushed and she dropped the phone cord. Was that all he cared about?

“That’s not what I called to talk about!” 

She felt the sharp prickle of tears in the corner of her eyes. 

“You haven’t even asked me how I am,” she added in a small voice. 

There was silence on the other end for a moment. She cleared her throat. 

“We’re in Greece,” she tried. “It’s so beautiful here, Raoul, I wish you could see it. I never knew the sea could look so blue!”

“It sounds wonderful,” he said, and he sounded almost normal. 

“Oh, it is! Maybe- maybe you and I can come back here, one day. I’d love to experience it with you. And the seafood - it’s so good! You know it’s never been my favorite, but being here just might change that, honestly.”

“Sounds swell. Say, you haven’t answered my question.”

Her lip trembled and she gripped the phone tighter. 

“How is everything there?” she asked instead, trying hard to pretend that she hadn’t heard him. 

“Same old, same old,” she could almost hear the shrug in his voice. “It’s not exciting like Greece. I wouldn’t want to bore you with it.”

She swallowed hard. 

“Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll- I’ll write to you, okay? I’ll send a postcard or something. It was great hearing you though.”

It was anything but great. Or rather, it _should_ have been great, and yet she was only left feeling uncomfortable and gross, as though she’d done something dirty and wrong. 

She hadn’t so much as kissed Erik, yet she couldn’t bring herself to tell that to Raoul. He should love her regardless, and it annoyed her to have to assuage his fears constantly even when he acted as though he didn’t believe her.

“Okay,” he agreed. 

“I love you, Raoul,” she said. 

“Okay. Talk to you later, Lotte.”

She hung the phone up quietly and stared at the wall for a long moment. 

She thought about his reply, and his questions, and about the Christmas party he’d gone to three years ago, the one hosted by the company he worked for, the one were he’d gotten somewhat drunk and kissed Gloria, a woman who worked on the same floor as him, and about how he’d tearfully admitted it to her several days afterwards, pleading and begging and still expecting her to love him all the same. And she _had_ , she had still loved him back then and even now, even after everything, she loved him. And yet- 

_Has he bedded you?_

What if he had? Would that change how he felt about her? Would he not want her anymore, if that was the case? Was she ridiculous to think that he was being ridiculous about it? She had believed him when he’d told her nothing more had happened between him and Gloria, and she felt it only fair that she be returned the same amount of trust. 

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she shouldn’t have believed him so readily. 

Erik cautiously entered the room, glancing over at her. 

“Was, ah, was that your boy on the phone?” he asked with careful nonchalance. 

She smiled in spite of herself. Erik was always so strange about Raoul, never really knowing how to act on the rare occasion when he was brought up. Even now he was fretting over making a show of attempting to tidy up the already tidy room so it wouldn’t look as though he’d barged in to demand answers from her. 

“It was,” she agreed. 

“What did he have to say for himself?” he muttered, glaring at a vase and turning it this way and that. 

“Not a lot,” she shrugged a little and got off the bed, approaching him. 

She came and stood behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning against his back. His breath hitched as she rested her cheek to his spine. 

“I don’t think I’m going to call him again,” she murmured. 

“Why not?” he asked, breathless. 

“He seemed cross with me,” she admitted. “Disappointed in me, maybe.”

She didn’t want to tell him the reason Raoul was cross with her. She was afraid he would laugh. She was afraid he’d suggest she go ahead and do it, if he was going to accuse her over it anyway. 

She was afraid she might accept. That would be the worst scenario, to accept out of spite. If she didn’t like it, if it felt too awkward, poor Erik would have to live with the knowledge that she hadn’t enjoyed it, that it had been something they’d only do once. Surely he wouldn’t want her that way just so she could get petty revenge on her ex-fiancé, especially if she hadn’t liked doing it at all. 

“It can’t be easy for him to be away from you for so long,” Erik said gently, placing a hand over hers and running his thumb over her knuckles. “He probably just misses you. Don’t be too hard on him.”

She sighed, closing her eyes. 

“Where do you want to eat dinner?” she asked eventually. 

“I was thinking that little place on the dock?” he said hopefully. “From out there we could see the lights all up and down the shore.”

“Okay.”

They really could see the lights all up and down the shore, the little boats bobbing in the crystal blue water, the strings of lights along the storefronts, the illuminated windows of the dwellings all the way up the side of the cliff. They marveled over it as they feasted on shrimp and fava beans and rice and washed it down with sparkling white wine. Somewhere on the dock, a fiddler played and though the tune that drifted down to their table was one Christine had never heard before, her heart ached at the familiarity of it, at how it reminded her of her Papa.

It looked just like a postcard that night, she thought. It looked almost like the postcard she bought the next day for Raoul, the postcard that she turned around and stared at the blank spot on the back for a long time. At last she wrote _thinking of you_ , and then chewed on her pen before adding _fondly!_ , even if her thoughts towards him weren’t exactly fond at the moment, because just _thinking of you_ didn’t sound like enough. 

She clutched it in one hand as they walked in the sunlight the following morning, planning to drop it off at the little post office. During the walk, Erik surprised her by reaching out to brush his fingers across her other hand. She glanced up, not expecting the touch, and Erik looked at her meaningfully. She realized what he wanted but was too shy to ask for lest she turn him down, too afraid to reach out and take lest she wrench her hand away from his. 

She smiled at him and took his hand in hers, squeezing it. 

They walked hand in hand for the rest of their trip. 

The postcard dropped off in the mailbox and swiftly forgotten, they spent the rest of the afternoon idly walking around town. They took their time, pretending that they were simply soaking in the local flavor instead of having to go slow for Erik’s sake, so that he wouldn’t get winded or overexert himself. 

There was a little boat offering tours of the coast, and they both thought it looked interesting enough to try. They stood on the deck of the boat along with a dozen or so other tourists, excited to start their expedition. 

It was off to a good - but bumpy - start. The scenery was beautiful but she hadn’t expected to waves to be so rough. Every so often the boat would lurch this way or that unexpectedly. 

She managed to keep her footing, but her purse was not so lucky. It ended up on the ground, it’s contents spilling out of it, and her face flushed with shame and embarrassment. 

Erik, ever the gentleman, sprang forward to gather the scattered items before she could stop him. 

Her wallet, a tube of lipstick, a handkerchief, her sunglasses, and a certain compact were all quickly gathered up and deposited back into her purse by him. He gave the sunglasses a quick look to make certain they were okay, then ran his thumb over the top of the compact. Christine stared hard at it in his hand, willing him to drop it in the purse. 

“Is your mirror okay?” he fretted and pushed the little button to open it. “If it broke, that’s seven years of-“

He stopped short as soon as it opened, surprised. 

It wasn’t a mirror. 

It felt to Christine that that moment stretched an eternity, as he stood there and furrowed his brow at the ring of pills inside the compact. She was certain her face was beet red now. 

He looked at her, puzzled. She met his eye and then looked away, her lips set in a firm line, and he seemingly realized that he had stumbled across something extremely personal. 

He looked back at the pills and closed the compact, swallowing hard. He slid it into the purse and held it out to her. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, but he still sounded confused. “I thought it was a mirror.”

She took the purse from him, too mortified to thank him. 

Neither one said anything, but he glanced at her curiously after a long moment, his eyes looking her up and down. He still looked puzzled, and he seemed deep in thought, as though he were trying to add two and two together. 

She was dreading the conversation that would surely come up. Did he know what they were for? Would he wonder at why she had them? Would he assume she’d started them when she was engaged to Raoul? Or would he think they were because of _him_? 

If he thought the latter, it had implications either way one looked at it - and she hated both of them. Would he think she secretly wanted to consummate their marriage? Or would he think that she was afraid he’d force himself on her? Regardless of how close to the truth the last implication was, she’d never want to admit that to him. Her husband accidentally finding out she was secretly on the pill was humiliating enough for both of them, let alone if he realized she was secretly on the pill because she thought he was going to _rape_ her. 

She looked out across the water, miserable. She wasn’t afraid of that, not anymore, not from him, but the fact remained that she’d continued taking the pills even still. She wouldn’t know how to explain it even if he asked. It was confusing even to her. 

He said nothing about it during the rest of the boat trip, but seemed a little dazed by the discovery, as though he were in shock. With a sinking heart she began to realize that he might have actually recognized what the pills were for. She didn’t know how she could recover from that kind of embarrassment. 

Still, he tried to treat her just the same as always, pointing out areas of interest along the shore and making small talk - stilted though it was, at the moment. 

Things felt almost back to normal between them by the time the boat docked and they went to find an early dinner somewhere. 

It wasn’t until halfway through dinner that the subject seemed in danger of being brought up. They had managed to get through everything normally, and she’d almost thought the danger behind her as they’d ate and talked about the dolmas and saganaki and spanakopita. 

“Christine,” he started. “About what was in your purse-“

She held her breath, looking up at him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. Was he really going to ask her? Maybe she could get away with saying it was headache medicine. Surely he didn’t have knowledge of contraceptives! 

He faltered when he saw the look of fear and mortification on her face. 

“I just thought it was funny,” he said, looking down at his plate. “You carry a tube of lipstick around with you, but I’ve never seen you wear lipstick even once in the entire time that I’ve known you.”

She breathed a sigh of relief as her her eyes closed. She was certain that wasn’t what he’d set out to say, but seemingly even he was too embarrassed to mention it. 

“I’m saving it,” she told him, opening her eyes and beginning to poke her fork at her food. 

“For what?” 

“A special day.”

He was quiet a moment. 

“You have to be careful with saving things for a special day,” he finally said. “Sometimes you find there aren’t any days left, and you’ve missed all the special ones while you were waiting for something more.”

She kept his words in the back of her mind as they finished their food and went outside to watch the lingering remains of the sunset on the water. The little town behind them was coming to life with light again, and they strolled on down the winding path for a little while. 

“Christine, look,” Erik nodded towards a street vendor who was selling some kind of food. 

Upon closer inspection it appeared to some sort of fried octopus and clams in a bowl with rice. 

“Do you want one?” he asked her. 

She gave the food stand a wary look, watching how short an amount of time the clams were being cooked before being put in a bowl to eat. 

“I’ll pass,” she said evenly. 

“I’m getting one. Are you sure?”

“Are you really?” she hesitated. 

“Of course!”

She wrinkled her nose. 

“No thank you.”

She watched with disapproval as he purchased one and began eating it as they walked along, and she turned down his offer of a bite of it. 

They lingered outside another hour or so, breathing in the sea air and basking in the moonlight. At Erik’s request they snuck down to the shoreline, rolling their pant legs up and taking their shoes off to let the surf roll up over their feet and ankles. 

They held each other’s hand to steady themselves as the water crashed up against them, and she had to stifle her squeals at how cold it was. She squeezed his hand as the wave rolled in again, and he laughed as she couldn’t hold her shriek back any longer, hopping from one foot to the other. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight as he looked at her, grinning. This would be a moment she’d remember for a long time, she thought. 

They were both quiet but smiling as they made their way back to the hotel, still holding hands. They parted at their doors with kind and tender words of goodnight. 

Once in her room she wasted no time in showering and changing into her nightgown, placing her dressing gown over it. She curled into bed with her book, a smile still resting on her face, memories of the evening they’d spent still in her mind. 

Her comfortable peace was interrupted by a fervent knock on their shared door. She jumped a little at the unexpected sound, and went to answer it. 

When she opened the door, Erik was standing there, looking especially nervous and rather sweaty. 

“Christine,” he said urgently. “I don’t feel well.”


	13. Chapter 13

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” she frowned. 

He shrugged his shoulders, looking lost. 

“I don’t know, I- I don’t feel right. I have chills and everything hurts and I’m dizzy and- I don’t feel good,” his voice broke. “Am I dying? I can’t be, it’s too soon, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”

“Erik, go sit on your bed, I’ll be right there,” she rushed to get her medical bag, but Erik stayed where he was. 

“Christine, am I dying? Is this what it feels like?” his voice was getting panicky and high pitched. 

“Sit down, sit down,” she ushered him to his bed, but he stood right back up after sitting down. 

“I can’t be dying, Christine, I have too much I still wanted to do! Tell me it’s not so! Christine?”

“Erik calm down - I can’t tell you anything if you’re like this!”

He looked like he was going to give himself a panic attack, assuming he wasn’t already in the middle of one. 

At her urging he laid back on the bed while she stuck a thermometer in his mouth and tried to listen to his heart. 

“Am I-“ he asked around the thermometer. 

“Erik, hush! I can’t hear!” 

His heart was faster than she’d ever heard it, and he had a fever. She pulled his mask off, finding his brow sweaty and clammy underneath.

“Do you have any shortness of breath?”

“Yes. Christine- is this it? Is this the end?”

“Do you have any stomach pain?”

“I don’t want to die, not like this- not right now- please- do something, anything!”

His pleading was heartbreaking. Whereas back in Rome he’d seemingly faked symptoms to get her to touch him, she could tell that he wasn’t faking this. Not only was he clearly sick, he was also out of his mind with fear. 

“Does your stomach hurt?” she asked again, a little more forceful. 

“ _Yes_ , everything hurts - my head, my joints, my stomach - Christine- what’s wrong with me?” he begged, clutching at her arms. 

“Lay back,” she instructed. “Let me look at your ankles. Are you having heart palpitations?”

He obeyed her orders, placing his legs and feet on the bed, and she knelt on the bed and peeled his socks off, but his ankles weren’t swollen like she’d expect them to be if his heart was failing. 

“No palpitations,” he whimpered. “But I don’t feel right.”

“Your ankles look okay,” she told him, and he sat up again. “Do you feel weak?”

As soon as he was sitting again he pulled her to himself in a tight hug, burying his unmasked face in the crook of her neck. She could feel his hot tears on her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around him in return. 

“I don’t want to die, Christine, please, don’t let me-“ he whispered through his tears as he clung to her, as though if he just held on to her tightly enough, he could cling to life, too. 

“Oh, Erik - honey, I think you just have food poisoning,” she murmured, carding her fingers through his hair and rubbing his back with her other hand, hoping to calm him. “I don’t think you’re going to die tonight.”

“Food poisoning?” he sniffled against her skin. 

“Yeah - did you-“

Before she could ask about any gastrointestinal distress she suddenly found herself being pushed away from him as he sprang off the bed and ran for the bathroom. She recovered her senses as she heard him retching, and darted into the bathroom with him, falling to her knees beside him as he kneeled in front of the toilet. 

“Food poisoning,” she sighed, and rubbed a hand on his back. “You’re going to be okay.”

She stayed there with him, brushing his hair out of his face and flushing the toilet every now and then until at last his stomach was empty. She helped to pull him to his feet and used the bathroom faucet to pour him a glass of water to rinse his mouth out with. After that she took him by the hand and led him back to the bed. 

“Why don’t you lay down, and I’ll go get you a ginger ale from the gift shop, okay?” 

“No,” he whined, clinging to her hand and not letting her leave. “Let room service bring it up. Don’t go.”

She relented and sat on the edge of the bed, him sitting behind her as she dialed up the number for the concierge. Room service hours were over, but perhaps there was someone who could send the drink up. She listened to the phone ring, and was slightly surprised when Erik placed his hand on the top of her shoulder as though he were afraid she’d run off and leave him all alone - and more surprised when he rested his forehead against the back of her other shoulder. 

“Hello? I was wondering if someone was able to deliver a can of ginger ale up to my room? My husband is ill, and I’m not able to go get it myself.”

She let Erik lean against her, let him nervously toy with the lace on the collar of her dressing gown between his thumb and forefinger. He was always so careful to give her space, and she knew he must be terribly frightened to want to be so close to her now. 

“They’re coming up soon,” she turned to tell him as she hung up the phone. 

He pulled his face and hand away from her, not quite meeting her eye, and nodded. She could see the self-loathing and embarrassment written across his face at the mortifying situation he was in, and she felt lanced with compassion. 

“How are you feeling, now?” she asked softly, holding her arms out to offer him a hug. 

He hesitated only a moment before falling into her arms again. 

“Does your stomach feel better?” 

He nodded against her shoulder. 

“Your drink will be here soon, that’ll help too,” she assured him, rocking him back and forth just slightly. 

Her poor Erik. Even her own heart was still beating fast, scared at what she’d almost thought was about to happen. She vowed to take better care of him, to make sure he rested enough and didn’t have as much wine or salt, to keep a better eye on how much water he was drinking. She wanted him to be able to live long enough to complete the things that he wanted to do. It would be too cruel, otherwise. 

They both stayed there like that in the silence, holding and being held. She couldn’t help but marvel at how so tall and imposing a man could also be so uncertain and vulnerable, and that he, her teenaged self’s hero, could fit so easily in her arms and rest his cheek on her chest and that it would feel like he belonged there. 

It felt only natural, too, to run her hand up and down his back. She nearly shed a tear thinking about all the times in his life he’d wanted - needed - someone there by his side but had been all alone instead. 

There was a knock at the door that broke the silence. She made to pull back, but he tightened his grip on her. 

“I’m just getting your drink, honey. I’ll be right back,” she said.

He looked uncertain but reluctantly let go of her. She returned in a moment, a can of soda in one hand and a glass with ice and a plastic straw in the other. She set both on his nightstand and poured the ginger ale into the glass as he watched, stirring the straw around to remove some of the carbonation. 

“Here,” she said, holding it out to him. 

He took it from her and sipped at it, but looked panicked as she turned to leave. 

“Where are you going?”

She blinked, pausing in the doorway. 

“I’m getting a cool washcloth for your forehead. I’ll be right back.”

She returned a moment later with the cool, damp rag, sitting next to him on the bed and placing it against his forehead. 

“How do you feel?” she asked. 

“My joints still hurt,” he mumbled around the straw, glancing away. “I think I hurt my knees on the tile.”

“Aw, that’s bad luck. Poor Erik,” she rubbed his back, scooting closer to him. “Let me feel your pulse?”

He nodded and held his wrist out to her. Some of his panic seemed to have faded, and this was evidenced in his pulse. 

“You’re doing better,” she told him. “Do you feel like finishing your drink?”

He shrugged and tried another sip, but didn’t drink much more than half the can. 

“I feel exhausted,” he groaned. 

“I’m not surprised,” she smiled sadly. “But you’ll recover.”

They were both quiet a long moment. 

“I guess I should go to sleep,” he said finally. 

“Yeah,” she agreed, then hesitated. “Erik- do you want me to stay with you tonight?”

“I’d never ask that of you, Christine,” he said quickly, finally making eye contact. 

“You’re not,” she said. “You’re not asking me. _I’m_ asking _you_. Do you want me to sleep here? Just- just sleep. Just to be close, in case you need help.”

“ _Christine-_ ” he whined softly. 

“Would you feel more comfortable?”

“I can’t- I cant make you do that. I won’t make you stay.”

She paused. 

“If you want me to leave, I’ll leave,” she said carefully. “Erik - do you want me to leave?”

He was painfully still and silent for the longest time. Then, at last, he shook his head, slowly, barely perceptibly, just once, refusing to look at her. It was enough. 

“I’ll stay,” she assured him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be alone.”

“Wait-“ he jumped off the bed, rushing into her room. 

When he returned a moment later he was carrying the two pillows from her own bed, and her blanket. He ushered her off the bed, and she watched, curious, as he took his own two pillows and stripped his blanket off, rearranging until there was a single pillow at the furthest end of each side and a barrier made of spare pillows going straight down the middle of the mattress. He folded the blankets just so on each side so that they could be wrapped around each of them as they slept, yet another layer of protection from any accidental contact as they slept. 

She raised an eyebrow and pressed her lips into a thin line when she realized what he was doing. On one hand, it felt ridiculously overkill. On the other, she felt a little guilty - had she implied to him that she was this afraid of his touch? 

At last he was satisfied with how the bed was set, and he wrapped his blanket around himself and settled on the mattress, facing away from her. 

“Goodnight,” he said gruffly, turning off the bedside lamp. 

She couldn’t help but smile. She put her blanket likewise about her self, laying down on her side of the pillow barrier, closing her eyes and trying to sleep. 

It felt wrong, somehow. 

She turned over until she was facing his back, facing the pillows, and reached her over to him. He tensed up under her touch, not expecting her small hand to make contact with his back. 

“Erik,” she whispered. 

He turned towards her slightly, his brow knitting, his eyes gently reflecting the light from the little window across from the bed. 

She sought out his hand and held it, leaving it there with her arm across the pillows. He lay on his back now, realizing what she was aiming for. 

“Thank you,” he breathed so softly she almost didn’t hear it. 

She smiled sleepily at him in the near darkness, and she felt warm inside to think of how far they’d come. 

She could still remember those first few days in Rome, right after he’d given her the list of his expectations. She’d tried to hold his hand his the next day as they were out in the city, only for his hand to fall away after a little while. Thinking it an accident, she’d reached for his hand again, only for him to give her a tight lipped and polite smile. 

_”It’s alright, my dear, it’s already been three minutes,”_ he had told her. 

_”Erik, you’re_ counting _? Seriously?”_

She hadn’t been sure if she should pity him or feel offended, or perhaps both. He had explained that she’d completed her part of the contract and didn’t expect anything more. She’d said nothing in return at the time, but a little later that afternoon she had grabbed his hand again, giving him a pleading, meaningful look, and he had squeezed her hand and not let go of it. 

Still, at the time, she’d never thought they’d end up here, like this. It wasn’t unpleasant, though... once one ignored what had happened in the bathroom. 

The alarm clock woke both of the the next morning, and even after being jerked awake by the incessant electronic beeping, Christine was surprised to find that they were still holding hands. A look of surprise flashed across Erik’s face as well, followed by a deep frown. He rolled over and turned off the alarm clock. 

He stayed facing away from her after doing so, as if he were trying to recollect the previous night and what had led to them waking up in the same bed together. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, wincing. “I’m very sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she yawned. 

“Oh,” he groaned, rolling to his back and covering his face with his hands. “You must think I’m disgusting.”

“No! Not at all.”

“I really am sorry, Christine, for putting you through that,” he insisted, his voice muffled but anguished. 

“Erik,” she laughed softly. “I’m a nurse. Trust me, you aren’t the first person to puke on me.”

His hands flew off of his face and stared up at the ceiling with wide eyes. 

“I puked _on_ you?!” his voice was filled with despair and horror. 

“No! I just mean if you _had_ \- it’s nothing new to me. It’s okay.”

He groaned and rolled to face away from her once more. 

“It’s not a big deal,” she sighed as she propped herself up on an elbow and pressed down the pillow between them so she could get a better look at him. “Really. All I care about is that you feel better.”

He was quiet. 

“Do you feel better?” she asked after a moment. 

He made a noncommittal grunt. 

“Erik, I mean it - do you still feel sick?”

“My traitorous wretch of a stomach is fine, Christine,” he said flatly. “That’s not why I currently feel sick.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “What’s wrong, then?”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, and she started to get worried. At last he rolled over to face her. 

“I feel like I took advantage of you,” he whispered, and the concern was written plainly on his face. 

“How?” she asked gently. 

His eyes flickered over her face, uncertain. 

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “But what if I did, somehow. What if I- what if I tricked you- I’ve tricked people before, Christine, I wasn’t always a good man in my life- I had to to survive, please understand- I never meant to trick you, never intended to be like that with you, but- old habits die hard, I’m afraid...”

She was quiet as she absorbed all of this. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. “How did you trick people?”

He looked up at the ceiling. 

“I’ve lied, a lot. In the past. I’ve pretended. I’d say whatever I needed to in order to get my way.”

“You think you secretly tricked me into getting into bed with you?”

“The subconscious is a scary thing, Christine.”

She raised an eyebrow. 

“Your subconscious thought the best way to seduce me was to vomit in front of me? Really?”

He grimaced. 

“I never said my subconscious was smart. But... You’re here.”

“That’s a hell of a gamble, though. How often does that one work with the ladies, Erik?” she teased, smiling. 

“Don’t make fun,” he whined. 

“Oh, really now - do you think you did on that on purpose? You ate an undercooked octopus, Erik. You tried to get _me_ to eat an undercooked octopus. Did you subconsciously want me to get sick?”

“No!” he turned to her, horrified. “Never!”

“Well then there you have it. It’s okay. I stayed because I wanted to. I wasn’t tricked.”

He nodded slowly, understanding. She had wanted to chide him for such a foolish line of thought, but she still remembered his words back in Rome, back during their visit to the cemetery - the words that Luciana had hurled at him all those many years ago - _you tricked me_. 

“You didn’t take advantage of me,” she added quietly, reaching out to caress the side of his face. 

He flinched at first, and it made her heart ache to think that his immediate reaction to someone reaching for his face was to behave as though pain were coming. 

“You should take it easy today,” she said after a while, sitting up. “We should stay in, or at least stay close. In case you start feeling worse.”

“Okay.”

“We should go to that little store around the corner and get you some bland food, do you feel up to that?”

“I think so,” he replied as they got out of bed. 

“Erik-“

She could tell he was still consumed by guilt, not quite looking at her. 

“It’s okay to want something, and then to enjoy it when it happens,” she told him gently. “That doesn’t mean you did something wrong, or bad, to get that.”

He paused next to her in the doorway. 

“Christine...”

He looked at her, hesitating. 

“May I?” he asked. 

She nodded. 

“Yes.”

She didn’t know what he was asking for, but she was prepared to give it, whatever it was. A kiss, most likely, but she would comply regardless. 

But he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he reached a hand out and gently ran it over her hair, letting it linger there a moment before pulling away. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice husky. 

They didn’t speak again on the previous night, and each of them got ready to go to the store. Their talk was on light subjects only as they made their way down to the street and then to the corner. 

Once in the store, they walked up and down the isles, discussing the items. Some foods surprised them as things they had back in France, and some things Erik glared at as though they existed solely to make him ill again. 

In the midst of it, Christine reached out to hold his hand. She was surprised when he pulled his hand away from her, thinking it must have been an accident. She tried again a few moments later, but this time he not only shied away but crossed his arms, keeping his hands out of reach. She blinked her eyes, not certain why the rejection stung so much. Had she done something wrong? Was he merely too overwhelmed at what had happened last night? She squeezed her hand into a fist and then released it, not understanding but too ashamed to ask him. He casually pointed out a brand of soda they’d never seen before. She stared dubiously at him a long second, then remarked that it looked like it tasted good. 

They made their selections and paid and went back to the hotel, prepared to rest for the remainder of the day. As they settled in on the foot of her bed to see what channels the tv got, Christine suddenly remembered something. 

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing her purse and taking it to the bathroom with her. 

Waking up in Erik’s room had been such an unusual occurrence that her morning routine had been thrown off entirely. She’d forgotten to take her pill. It wouldn’t have dire consequences, she knew - nothing had happened, and he apparently didn’t even want to hold her hand right now - but she also knew it was important to keep taking them, even still, because to skip days would interfere with her menstrual cycle. 

She poured herself a glass of water from the sink and pulled the compact out of her purse, quickly downing a pill. 

Erik was staring at her as she exited the bathroom, his expression blank. Her eyes darted away, guilty. He was quiet as she placed her purse back on her nightstand and sat on the end of the bed next to him. 

“What’s on tv?” she asked, trying to sound cheerful. 

“Christine,” he said quietly. “I think we need to talk.”

“About?” she kept her tone light, even though her throat was far too dry all of a sudden. 

“About those pills in your purse.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the comments <3
> 
> Please check out this awesome piece of art drawn by the awesome StaminaOverlook, inspired by this story!  
> https://staminaoverlook.tumblr.com/post/630629389556678656/show-chapter-archive

She felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her. She tried to say _Oh?_ but only managed to sharply exhale. 

“You weren’t going to tell me about them, were you? Had I not found them by accident?”

He was staring straight ahead at the tv, a fuzzy news channel in Greek, the sound playing softly, but he could see from the corner of his eye as she shook her head. 

“I’ve been thinking about them ever since I saw them,” he confessed. “I considered long and hard over whether I should even bring them up. I want to respect your privacy and your agency, but I am your husband, and I think this matter concerns me as well.”

She nodded again, weakly. 

“Why are you taking them?” he asked bluntly. 

Her throat constricted and she struggled to gather her thoughts. 

“Erik- I-“

How was she supposed to explain this? How was she supposed to tell this sweet man what she’d been afraid of from him? That she didn’t want to have his child? Why _was_ she still taking them?

“I- I don’t know how to tell you that,” she finally choked out. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Christine,” he sighed, sounding hurt. “Do you not trust me?”

She sucked in a wavering breath. She had never intended him to know those things, those secret fears and hidden suspicions. They would only hurt him. She had tried to not let him realize, but it seemed he had, even still. 

“I do,” she said, on the verge of tears. “I do trust you- it’s just- it wasn’t about trust, Erik, I trusted you but I didn’t _know_ you, I didn’t know how you’d react- I didn’t know if you’d-“

“Are you sick?”

His words, bluntly spoken, were like a punch in the stomach. She choked on a sob. He thought she was sick? Was she sick? Was it sick to hide something like that from him? She hadn’t thought so, but if _he_ thought so - maybe she was. Maybe there really was something wrong with her. 

She brought her hands up to cover her mouth, tears flowing now. Her shoulders shook with each sob. She’d never wanted this to happen, for him to find out. She’d misjudged him, erring on the side of caution and trying to preserve her personal safety - and now he knew every fleeting thought in her mind, and he considered her sick for even thinking them. 

“I’m sorry!” she cried. 

He was going to hate her, now. She truly hadn’t thought him malicious during any part of it all - he was simply a man, that was all. A man with a wife, a man with rights to that wife, regardless of her opinion. That’s just how it was. But she knew now that Erik wouldn’t see it that way - he wouldn’t think she’d been thinking of him as a husband. He think she’d been thinking of him as a monster. How often had he said that she had been the only one to see him for him, as a regular man? But now this - if he knew that she’d even considered that he might coerce her in any way, force her to be intimate with him - that would break him, heart and soul, in a way he’d never recover from. He might send her away after that. How could their relationship survive that? How could he even look at her, knowing what she had been expecting him to do?

He turned to her, a look of desperation in her eyes. 

“Christine,” he said urgently. “Please- if you’re ill I want to know about it. I want to know what’s wrong.”

Her mind froze, trying to process his words. Her eyes widened. Ill? He thought she was _ill_? She looked to him for confirmation. 

“Is it serious?” he pleaded. “How long have you been sick? Is- is traveling making it worse? Christine, I won’t be able to bear it if my making you travel is causing you to get sicker, or delay treatments - please, tell me the truth. I want you to trust me with this.”

She looked into his eyes and saw the earnest distress there, how terrified he looked for her. 

“You think-“ she swallowed hard. “You think I have a health condition?”

“You take medication daily,” his brow furrowed. “Why else? That wasn’t a bottle of vitamins, Christine. I’m not that dense.”

She tried to take a deep breath, her mind reeling. He didn’t know what they were. 

“What are they for?” he begged. 

“Oh Erik-“ 

“Do you need money for treatment?” he tried. “Is that why you said yes to me? I can pay for whatever you need right now, but you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

She shook her head, almost on the verge of laughter now. She’d never felt such relief. 

“I’m not sick, Erik,” she sniffed, wiping away her tears. 

“Well why, then? What do they do?”

She chuckled lightly, embarrassed. He really wasn’t letting this go until he found out. 

“They’re just... They’re for, er- _female_ problems,” she started. 

His eye narrowed. What the devil were _female problems_?

She took a deep breath. 

“They’re for cramps, Erik. They help me not have such bad cramps.”

He glanced her over, up and down, not fully understanding. 

“Why do you have cramps?” he asked with all the innocence in the world. 

Her face turned red. 

“ _Monthly_ cramps,” she said. 

It took a moment to dawn on him. 

“Oh. Oh! Ah, I see,” he coughed, looking away. 

“It’s nothing to worry about,” she said, picking at her fingernails. “It’s just- that’s what they do. That’s why I take them.”

“Oh,” he breathed, running a hand through his hair. “I was so worried it might be something else... That you had some condition, some disease... I was really worried about you.”

She felt a tug of guilt. 

“No, nothing like that. I’m healthy. It’s just- cramps,” she replied lamely. 

He nodded. 

“Okay.”

They watched the news, not really paying attention since they couldn’t understand it anyway, each one lost in their own thoughts. 

“Why didn’t you want to hold my hand in the store?” she asked finally, in a whisper. 

He nervously began to flip through the channels, disregarding the fact that the tv only picked up four. 

“You’ve more than fulfilled your duty in that regard,” he murmured at last. “You don’t have to hold my hand again if you don’t want to. I’m fine with that. Last night was- it was more than I’d ever thought I’d have.”

He paused a moment, then chuckled- “I think you’ve used up your three minutes a week for the next six months all in one night - very clever, my dear!”

She was about to protest how transactional he made their relationship to be, but she held back. Hadn’t she wanted it to be a transaction? Wasn’t it only a business deal? She didn’t respond, but frowned a little. Did she want to hold his hand? Didn’t he want to hold her hand more often? 

“I don’t mind,” she said softly. 

He turned off the tv and sighed. 

“I do,” he said plainly, and her heart skipped a beat. 

“What?”

“My mind isn’t going, Christine, not yet anyway. It’s nothing like that - it’s just- well, sometimes, when you’re very nice to me, I- I almost forget that we aren’t- I forget our situation. I think I told you once before that I liked pretending we were something more, that we were a real couple, but... It feels too real, sometimes. You are... You’re an incredible actress, Christine, and you make it too easy to believe you really love me.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again. She didn’t even know what she would say. 

“You don’t love me,” he said simply, and the words felt like a slap across her face. “I’ve made my peace with that. I don’t want to get my hopes up for something that can never possibly happen. You are my nurse and nothing more. And that’s fine. Really, Christine, it is - don’t look like that. I’m fine with it. It’s just- when you hold my hand and call me _honey_ and sleep next to me - I know it doesn’t mean anything. But lately, some little part of me says it _might_ , and I know that’s not true.”

“We’re friends,” she interjected petulantly. 

“I know,” he smiled briefly before his face turned serious again. “I know we’re friends, but that’s all we are. If you love me, it’s as a friend, and that’s all. And that’s okay. I just need to be able to keep that in mind. I think it’s better that way, to remember that - it’ll lead to less misunderstandings, less... crossed boundaries. Sometimes... sometimes when we’re together, I forget. I forget, and I almost- well, I don’t want to cross a line one day that I can’t take back, one we’ll both regret. So sometimes I need just a little space. Space to remember.”

She chewed on her lip, scowling. She didn’t know why she felt so reprimanded. He claimed with such authority that she didn’t love him and she wanted so badly to deny that, but how could she? She wasn’t in love with him. She didn’t know why it bothered her to hear him say words that were true, but it did. 

“You don’t want me to do those things,” she said, her tone bordering on accusing. “I was just trying to do what you wanted me to do-“

Why did this feel like such a personal rejection? She wiped at her watery eyes. 

“You _asked_ me to do those things, and now you don’t want them-“

“That’s not what I’m saying-“

She got up off the bed, wrapping her arms around herself as she went to look out the window. 

“Christine-“ he called after her. “Christine, come back here. I do want those things - in the capacity _that I asked for_. To hold hands three times a week and hug once a month. You don’t have to make a point of doing both constantly.”

She covered her face with her hands and moaned with embarrassment. 

“It’s not that I don’t like it!” he said, desperately trying to explain, his voice wavering. “But please, try to understand - I’m- I’m not used to being touched.”

She stared out the window, her eyes burning. She felt like a scolded child, and she hated it. 

“Christine...”

He leaned back on the bed and sighed. 

“Christine, you haven’t done anything wrong. Sometimes I would just prefer to not be touched, and I would like you to not take that personally. Just like how I don’t take it personally that you prefer to spend your evenings alone.”

She paced a little, something that was difficult to do in such a small room. 

“I’m not like other people, you know,” he said, looking away. “It’s not that I don’t like your touch, I _do_ , and that’s I problem - I like it too much. And the more used to it I get, the more I’ll want more. And maybe you aren’t comfortable with more. And then I’m disappointed and you’re uncomfortable and no one is happy. I don’t want it to be like that between us. So just... You don’t have to do anything more than what was in our agreement. Especially if you didn’t really want to do it in the first place.”

He watched her as she stood, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself, still not looking at him, her head bowed. 

“I’ve offended you,” he said anxiously, realizing. “Do you want me to go back to my own room?”

“No,” she said glancing at him and then away. “That’s okay. You can stay.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said softly. 

She shrugged her shoulders, unable to articulate even to herself why she was upset. 

“When I was with Raoul,” she started slowly, noticing how his shoulders stiffened at the name. “We were... Very physical.”

His jaw clenched and he looked ready to get off the bed and leave. 

“Not like that!” she said quickly, blushing. “We never- _went all the way_ -“ she thought she noticed a brief flicker of smugness flash across his face. “But- we touched. A lot. I guess I’m used to it. And I thought- maybe you liked that. I don’t mind it if you like it.”

“I don’t want you to _not mind_ , Christine,” he sighed. “I want you to like it, or to not do it at all.”

She came and sat next to him on the bed. He looked terribly sad, she thought. 

“I didn’t always like the things that Raoul did,” she admitted to him. “But he liked it, and I liked that he liked it.”

“You should like everything you do,” he insisted. “You shouldn’t have to compromise.”

She shook her head. 

“Would you do something you didn’t like, if you knew it would please me?”

He looked away. They both knew the answer to that. She didn’t even have to ask. He’d do anything for her. She smiled a little before her face turned somber again. 

“I feel alone a lot of times, Erik,” she whispered. “Ever since we started traveling. I don’t speak the language, I don’t know anyone but you. Raoul has been... Less than stellar for conversation. Meg is always busy. I’m lonely. And I’m used to being- well, _physical_ with someone. Raoul and I used to hold hands often. We’d hug, and sometimes we’d cuddle on the couch... I’m used to that, that feeling of having someone there. It doesn’t _mean_ very much to me, I guess - not like it does to you. I don’t view it in the same way, I suppose. I never thought that what seems so, well, _paltry_ , and commonplace to me, would actually mean so much more to you.”

She dared to look up at him. 

“I’m not pretending when I want to hold your hand, or hug you,” she told him. “But I’m also not- I don’t think I’m putting as much meaning behind those actions as you seem to be thinking, I’m afraid. I don’t find it distasteful to do those things, or a burden - but I also don’t see those things as something that only occurs if- if you’re in love. We’re only friends, but friends can hug and hold hands and that doesn’t mean they’re something more than friends.”

He studied her for a moment, smiling sadly. 

“I wish I had your logic,” he chuckled softly. “Intellectually I can understand everything you just said, my dear, but my foolish heart still feels the ghost of your arms around me and yearns for something more. So... Sometimes I will refrain from touching you, for both our sakes.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she agreed. “And you’ll keep in mind what I said, too?”

“Of course. I’m glad we could have this conversation, Christine. All of it. It’s important to be able communicate openly, and I appreciate how much you trust me to do so.”

“Yeah.”

She wiped the last of the lingering tears from her eyes. 

“Good communication is the foundation of any good marri- any good business arrangement,” he caught himself in the middle of word, and grinned wryly afterwards. 

She nodded, and was surprised to find that she was unaccountably disappointed that he hadn’t said _marriage_. 

“Do you want to play a game of cards?” she asked, trying to turn her mind to something else. 

“That sounds wonderful, I think.”

They played a few hands of cards and talked about anything that wasn’t their relationship, eating some of the bland foods they’d bought at the store. They went for a walk by the sea as the sun was setting, but they didn’t hold hands. 

They didn’t touch in any capacity for the rest of their time in Greece, nor for the first three days they spent in Scotland - the only exception being when Erik had offered her his hand as the plane was taking off, which she squeezed gently and then let go of - her fear of flying was beginning to lessen with each flight. 

It was the fourth day there, while they were exploring a forest full of fog, when he paused for a moment, catching his breath. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, coming a little closer to him. 

“Yeah,” he said, leaning over a little, hands on his knees. 

She studied him closely. The terrain was rocky and rolling, and she was just short of feeling slightly winded herself. Still, she worried for him. 

But he straightened up soon enough, and reached his hand out to her. She quickly took it, and they continued their trek hand in hand. 

She hadn’t realized just how much not touching had felt like holding her breath until that moment, when at last she could breathe deeply and feel his hand around hers, a weight off her shoulders that she didn’t even know was there until it was gone. It was a curious thing, really, but it seemed she had enjoyed their contact more than she’d realized. 

It surprised her. 

A lot of things had been surprising her recently, she supposed. 

But after that, they seemed to fall right back into how they’d been before. She wondered sometimes how close he was to letting himself believe that he wasn’t pretending anymore, that they really were a couple. Why would that be a bad thing, to pretend it were so? Would he want more from her, if that were the case? She thought about his words from that conversation often. She could pretend for him, if he wanted. Pretend that there was more. Did he want that? He’d said he didn’t want to take it too far - did that mean he was afraid he would kiss her? She would let him, if he wanted. 

Scotland was beautiful. She’d never known the countryside could be so devastatingly lovely, that such beauty could cause such wistful feelings in her. Erik seemed to be similarly affected. She wished they could spend a lifetime together there, exploring old castles and little tide pools and the rocky cliffs. 

For all it’s loveliness, it also somehow managed to magnify her loneliness. She could tell that Erik was feeling this, too, judging from how often he reached out to brush his hand against hers, how he’d linger just little longer in their hugs, and the longing look in his eyes as he bid her goodnight in the evenings for her quiet time. He was lonely, and he was likely back to pretending again. 

The hotel room here was in fact a little rented house, consisting of just a few rooms - a living room, a tiny kitchen, a bathroom, and two small bedrooms. It was an old house, but had been fitted with every modern technology, giving it an unusual style. 

It had been two days since Erik had consented to holding hands again. They’d just said goodnight, and he’d let go of her reluctantly after a quick hug. She settled in for the night after her evening routine was complete, flipped on the television in the empty living room and found an old monster movie playing. It was the strangest thing, considering how she loved her solitude in the evenings, but- 

She felt her loneliness inching into the back of her mind like a mouse squeezing under a door. 

She got up and found Erik in his own bedroom, writing in a book. 

“Do you want to watch tv with me?” she asked shyly. 

“Do you mean it?” 

He looked as though he could scarcely believe his ears. 

“Yeah.”

He followed her the living room where she sat on the couch and patted the seat next to her. He sat down awkwardly, as though he expected her to change her mind at any moment. 

“Have you seen this one before? It’s a favorite of mine,” she told him, tucking her legs under her. 

“No,” he breathed, his attention more on her than on the movie. “I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“Oh, really? It’s a classic!”

They watched together, the silence between them almost comfortable. She squirmed a little, changing position. Erik stiffened at this, and when she inched closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder, leaning her body against his, he held his breath. 

“This is my favorite part,” she murmured. 

He could barely pay attention to what was on the screen. 

“Oh?” he said stupidly. 

“Mm hmm. Papa and I used to watch these kind of movies every week when I was a kid.”

“You must have seen this one a lot, then,” he managed to say. 

“Yeah. But I still love it, every time. It’s like seeing an old friend.”

At last he began to breath normally again, somewhat convinced that she wasn’t about to pull away. He decided to press his unbelievable luck and slowly, tentatively let his arm go around her shoulders. She allowed it. 

She knew it was a shock to him. They’d both guarded her evening hours with a fierceness, Erik always being terribly apologetic when something happened to cut into her quiet time. But this - this was a first for them, the first time she’d invited him to share this space and time with her - the first time they’d cuddled on the couch together - the enormity of it seemingly wasn’t lost on him. 

Eventually he seemed to relax, letting his arm around her grow slightly less wooden and slightly more possessive, his fingertips daring to rub tiny, delicate circles on her arm. 

“Poor Gill-Man,” Christine sighed at the end of the movie. 

“Seriously?” Erik chuckled. 

“Yeah! They didn’t have to shoot at him like that.”

“He killed people.”

“He’s just misunderstood!”

Erik laughed. 

“Christine, he’s a monster.”

“Noooo,” she insisted. “He just needs a kiss on the forehead and I’m sure he’ll be nice!”

“Did your childhood movie nights with your father always end in discussions like this?” he teased. “I’m sure your father was terribly concerned about your future taste in men, if so.”

“Hey - Papa was firmly pro-monster!” she laughed. “Do you want to see what else is on?”

“Sure.”

They ended up watching two late night comedy shows before they finally decided it was time to go to sleep. Each of them seemed uncertain about actually getting off the couch, though. 

“I really should go,” Erik yawned. 

“Okay,” she stayed with her head on his shoulder a moment longer. 

He squeezed her tight in a side hug one last time before letting go of her, slowly standing up. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said softly. 

“Goodnight. Sleep well,” she told him. 

“Goodnight.”

She sighed wistfully and watched him retreat to his bedroom, giving her one last glance before he closed his door behind him. She stayed there on the couch a while longer, listening to the silence and fiddling with the remote and trying to not put a name to what she was feeling for him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem read is "When you are old" by WB Yeats

They had breakfast at a local diner, the same one they’d gone to every morning since arriving in town. The waitress was a sweet older lady who always talked to them when the diner wasn’t busy - and it wasn’t often busy. She seemed to enjoy doting on the newlywed couple, bringing them extra from the kitchen and asking about their travels. 

So when Christine felt a little woozy one morning, almost falling out of her chair, the waitress thought nothing of giving her a knowing smile along with a glass of cool water. 

“Lightheadedness was my first symptom too, with all my little ones,” she chuckled, patting Christine on the shoulder. 

“Oh!” Christine chuckled nervously, her face turning red. “Oh, no- I don’t think-“

“You never know, dearie! I bet in less than half a year you’ll have a wee one in tow, mark my words!”

With that the waitress bustled off to help another customer, and Erik started snickering derisively. 

Christine grinned at him painfully, beyond embarrassed. Erik kept laughing long after the waitress had left. 

Too long, in fact. 

Christine frowned down at her plate. 

“It’s not _that_ funny, Erik,” she said uncertainly, fiddling with her napkin. 

“ _Please_ ,” he shook his head, grinning wryly. “As if you and I would _ever_ \- it’s positively _laughable_.”

His words struck her like a knife. 

“I don’t find it terribly humorous,” she insisted, picking up her fork and poking at her hash browns, refusing to meet his eye. 

He really thought the idea of them together was so ridiculous? Or perhaps he was just trying to set her at ease, assuring her that he had no intentions in that particular activity. 

His smile faded quickly, and he leaned forward a little. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. 

“I think so.”

If anything had surprised her more than her unexpected bout of dizziness, it was how fast Erik had bolted from his chair to steady her when it happened. The feeling of spinning had passed, but it still concerned her just slightly, and she see could the concern still written plainly in Erik’s eyes. 

She smiled at him as best she could, trying to assuage his fears. They finished their breakfast an went on their planned expedition, but as the day wore on, she began to feel terribly run down, and Erik noticed. 

“Christine,” he said, tilting his head. “You don’t feel well?”

She started a little. She hadn’t thought he could tell. 

“I’m fine, Erik,” she tried. “I don’t want us to have to go back just yet.”

“You’ll get worse.”

“No, I won’t,” she shook her head. 

He gave her a reproachful look, but they continued on with their day until Erik decided to cut it short a few hours early. 

“Are you sure?” she fretted as they headed back. 

“I’m sure,” he said kindly. 

She felt guilty, but relieved and thankful. She had a headache now, and a sore throat, and her professional opinion was that she was coming down with a cold. 

They arrived at their little cottage and the first thing she did was rummage in her medical bag for some Tylenol, which she took before changing into her comfortable pajamas and pulling a book out of her suitcase, settling herself on the couch. She tried to read for a while, but as time went on she found the task more and more difficult. She was beginning to tremble now, chills setting in along with her fever. She let the book fall to the couch cushion and closed her eyes, resting her head on the plush armrest and berating herself for somehow getting sick. She only hoped she could get well quickly so that Erik wouldn’t have to miss too much of his trip. 

That was how Erik found her when he eventually left his bedroom to venture to the kitchen. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, stopping in the living room and forgetting all about what he had wanted from the kitchen. 

“I’m okay,” she said, but the weakness in her voice betrayed her. 

“Do you want me to cook you some soup?” he seemed at a loss. 

“No. I’m not hungry. It’s okay.”

“You don’t seem okay.”

“I’m fine, really,” she opened her eyes and insisted, trying to rally her strength. “You don’t have to worry for me, Erik.”

“Oh, Christine,” he sighed, sitting down on the couch. “You’ve spent your whole life taking care of people. But who takes care of you?”

“Erik,” she moaned, squirming away from him. “Don’t get too close, you’ll get sick too.”

“I don’t mind,” he said simply, reaching out and pulling her close to him before shifting to place her across his lap, holding her in his arms. 

Her body stiffened just a little, and he noticed, pausing. 

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

She nodded, relaxing, melting into his hold. 

“My poor girl,” he crooned, pulling the blanket off the back of the couch and placing it over her. “My darling little wife.”

Her face was already warm from her fever, but she was sure it felt even warmer now. She averted her eyes and tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder, letting it come to rest just a little lower. He held her like that for a long moment, resting his bare cheek on the top of her head, one hand comfortingly sitting on her knee and the other around her waist. 

“Will you read to me?” she asked in a small voice. 

“Of course.”

He reached for the book she had been reading, a book of poetry. 

“Yeats,” he muttered. “You have good taste, my dear.”

She smiled softly, closing her eyes as she leaned against his chest. 

He cleared his throat and opened the book to where she’d left the bookmark. 

“ _When you are old and grey and full of sleep,  
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,  
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look  
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;_”

Her smile faded, her world narrowing to focus only on that singular voice and how it rumbled deep in his chest, how his arm held her close to him, how every word was felt and not just heard. 

“ _How many loved your moments of glad grace,  
And loved your beauty with love false or true,_” he paused a moment, and when he spoke again there was a different quality to his voice, a vulnerability, a slight waver.

“ _But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,  
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;_”

She sucked in a tremulous breath, the words suddenly all too real. 

“ _And bending down beside the glowing bars,  
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled  
And paced upon the mountains overhead  
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars._”

The tears were slipping from her eyes before she even realized it. Dozens and dozens of poems in the book and _that_ was the one he had to unwittingly read to her and remind her of what she didn’t want to admit. 

Erik loved her. To just be loved was no great feat in itself - very many people had loved her throughout her life. Friends, colleagues, teachers, family, Raoul - they’d all loved her in varying degrees and capacities and for different reasons. But Erik - Erik loved her soul. He loved her even she was grumpy, even when she was astonishingly and mortifyingly rude to him. Even when she was filled with sorrow and fear. Even when she was filled with contagious germs. 

Even when she couldn’t return that same love back to him. 

He loved her at every time and in every way, every single part of her. He loved her sharp edges, her broken pieces, her unfinished parts. He loved her even after she told him her secrets and fears. 

They’d only know each other for a handful of months, but no one had ever made her feel _seen_ like he had. Like he could see every inch of her petty, fearful, selfish soul and still look at her like she hung the moon. Like she didn’t have to pretend around him, or worry what he might think of her. He could see right through the walls she put up, right through her protestations and knew what she needed, what she wanted, even when she pretended she didn’t. He made missteps now and then, yes - he was only human, after all - but he knew when to give her space and when to push her, and also when to apologize when he’d been wrong. 

If someone were to ask her, she’d say she firmly didn’t believe in the concept of soul mates - people had varying levels of compatibility, and one could make a good life - or at least a decent life - with any assortment of partners if one put their mind to it. That was what she believed, she was certain of it, but she was certain of something else that was equally true and she believed with an equal fervor- 

Erik was her soul mate. 

She didn’t know how those two ideas could both be true, but they were. 

She knew, also, that their together was strictly limited. When she was old and grey, as the poem said, he would be long gone, a distant memory. When Erik returned to the dust from which he came and his spirit had seeped and mingled into the forests and starlight, the ghost of that love would be all she still held of him. She would not have a love like that again. 

There would be other loves, she was certain, but none like this one. No one could ever love her quite like Erik did. 

She wished that she could love him in the way that he deserved to have someone love him, in the way he loved her. 

She turned her underserving face towards his chest, hoping to hide her tears as he began reading the next poem, and the next. She barely heard the other poems, too focused on a plan that was now germinating her mind. She sniffed a little, willing her eyes to dry themselves so Erik wouldn’t think she was crying when she said it. Five poems later, she let her arms snake up and go around his neck. Two poems after that, she squirmed a little on his lap. He faltered and paused. 

“Erik,” she said, her voice small. 

“Christine, what’s the matter?” he asked softly, his warm breath tickling the stay curls against her forehead. 

This man loved her like no other man ever would, and he asked for so very little in return. He had a heart that could hold the entire world, and yet he contented himself with a hug every now and then and to hold her hand occasionally. She couldn’t stand it. 

She pressed herself closer to him, firming her resolve. 

“Take me to bed, Erik,” she whispered. 

She might not ever like it in the way that men liked it, but she wanted Erik to have that, to enjoy that, and she was the only one who could give that to him. He wasn’t going to ask, she knew, so she had to offer it to him. 

He froze for the slightest of seconds, then his fingers gripped her a little tighter. 

“Of course,” he murmured, setting the book down and tossing the blanket aside and helping her to stand up.

She had hoped he might carry her, but reality came rushing back to her and she realized he probably couldn't so in his condition, and her heart ached at the thought of it. But still, he kept his arm around her shoulders as he walked her slowly to her room. 

Her heart was beating faster as he pushed the door open and ushered her into the room, drawing ever closer to the bed where it would happen. They arrived at the bedside, but she stayed clinging to him, slightly nervous. He left one arm around her as he reached out and drew the blankets down before helping her up into bed. She lay down on her back, keeping her gaze on his face. She felt a lump forming in her throat when she noticed how tenderly he was looking at her. He leaned over the bed a moment, one hand caressing the side of her face and pushing her hair out of her eyes. 

“Stay right there,” he whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

She let her eyes flutter shut as he left the room, wondering what he was leaving to go get. A condom, maybe? Would he even have any? Probably not, but she supposed there was a chance. Maybe he was going to change into something else, or put cologne on or something. 

He came back a moment later but he seemed exactly the same - except for the glass of water he held in his hand. He set it on her nightstand. 

“There,” he said, turning from it to pull the covers up around her. “Some water in case you get thirsty. I’ll be just across the hall, dearest, you tell me if you need anything else, okay? Get some rest.”

He patted her shoulder and switched off the light and left the room. 

She stared up through the darkness at the ceiling with wide eyes. 

Well, he’d done the literal definition of what she’d asked of him. 

“What the fuck,” she muttered under her breath in the stillness. 

She’d thought for certain- goodness, how explicitly did she have to tell him for him to understand? He really thought she just wanted him to carry her into her bedroom? Unless-

Unless he had known what she meant, and he didn’t want to. 

She tossed and turned, thinking of the possibilities. Why wouldn’t he want to? Why he wouldn’t he jump at the chance to have her, or at least ask for clarification on what she meant? Had he really not understood her? Was he impotent? It was a possibility, she supposed, with his conditions. Or... 

What if he just... Didn’t want to? Was it because she had a cold? She cringed. This was probably the worst possible time to offer, when she was sick. She wasn’t very attractive at the moment, after all. But he had been the one to want to hold her, nuzzle his false nose against her hair, put his hands on her. What if- what if that was all he wanted? She thought back to words at breakfast and her face burned with embarrassment. Was he not interested in her, sexually? 

The more she thought about it, the more mortified she became. What if all this time she’d been concerned about something that was so far away from what was in his mind! She groaned. What if that was the real reason he only asked for so little? All those nights she’d slept with her door open yet always woke up alone, the reason why he’d put pillows between them when she’d slept in his bed... 

Oh no. 

She could have cried from the the frustration and embarrassment. Had she really read the whole situation so wrongly this entire time? Or was her brain simply fever-addled? Surely Erik desired her. Didn’t he? 

But maybe that’s why he was so kind and sweet to her - there was no undercurrent of desire there, nothing to cause him to press for her more. 

But no, no- he loved her! How often had he looked at her so wistfully, with such longing? He wanted to bed her, didn’t he? He was simply too much of a gentleman. 

But she had _offered_ -

She found no answer that night, nor in the morning as she wandered into the kitchen and found him there, preparing her a cup of tea. 

“It has honey and lemon in it,” he told her as he handed her the mug. “It’ll help your throat. How are you feeling?”

She blinked sleepily at the mug now in her hands. All of her jumbled up thoughts from last night came rushing back with a vengeance, along with her shame at her botched attempt at seducing him. 

“Erik,” she said, frowning, her voice thick. 

“Yes?” 

“Thank you,” she said at last, looking up at him. “You’re always so nice to me.”

He smiled, relieved at what she’d said. 

“You’re easy to be nice to, my dear,” he chuckled. 

She wanted to ask him about the previous night, tease him that he hadn’t even realized what she was asking him to do, but she couldn’t gather the courage. It would only end in embarrassment for one of them - for him, if he hadn’t realized and thought she was making fun of him now, or for her, if he simply nodded and told her he was aware of her intentions. 

He fretted over her and tended to her for the next two days, attentive to her every need even before she needed to ask. 

It nearly brought a tear to her eye, how he treated her. Did she treat him this well? She’d thought she’d been doing a decent job of being his fake wife, but suddenly she wasn’t so sure. 

Perhaps that’s because he wasn’t faking. He actually loved her. 

She really did cry over it all on the second night of her illness, after Erik had fluffed her pillows and smoothed her hair away from her forehead and wished her pleasant dreams and left a glass of cool water for her. She pressed her face into her pillow and sobbed. He was her soul mate, but was she his? She didn’t think so, and that thought tore her up inside. Because if she was his soul mate, she’d be better for him. He wouldn’t have had to ask her to pretend to like him, he wouldn’t have had to pay her to marry him, he wouldn’t be sleeping across the hall instead of right next to her. If she was his soul mate, she was doing a pretty shitty job of being it. But it shouldn’t have to seem like a job, should it? It never seemed like a job to him. Taking care of her and loving her seemed to come as naturally as breathing to him. 

The third morning she declared herself well enough to start going on trips again, and thought Erik was hesitant at first, they set out to sightsee some more. 

They took the bus to their next destination, another castle ruin. While waiting at the bus stop Christine had found a kiosk full of travel brochures, and she’d picked up a handful of them, and, after sitting down next to Erik, began reading them on the ride. 

“Oh, Erik, look,” she leaned over to show him one of the brochures. “Doesn’t that look lovely?”

“Hmm. Indeed.”

She looked up at him and was about to ask if he wanted to go there, when suddenly she noticed that he wasn’t even looking at what she was showing him. Rather, he seemed to be taking advantage of his height and the cut of her blouse to stare intently and almost obscenely at her chest. 

Her face flushed and she paused a moment, conflicted, before pulling back. She _was_ his wife, wasn’t he allowed to look? But shouldn’t she be repulsed by that? Shouldn’t she not want him to look? She’d always been annoyed at men who looked, before. 

She put her hand over her blouse, pulling the fabric up higher towards her throat and squeezing it together to block his view. It was what she felt like she was supposed to do, but the mix of disappointment and relief was confusing to her. 

Erik looked away, ashamed at having been caught. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, clutching the armrests tightly. “I _am_ only a man.”

She let go of her blouse and placed a hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“It’s okay, just don’t let me catch you next time,” she teased lightly, but he didn’t smile. “You’ll have to be sneakier from now on.”

Neither one said anything else on the matter, but it stayed in the back of Christine’s mind for a long while. Was he attracted to her? Did he fantasize about her? Or was he, as he said, only a man? Wouldn’t a man stare down any woman’s shirt if given the opportunity? She wished she knew. 

In all likelihood he _was_ attracted to her, she was his _wife_ after all - but the fact remained that even when given opportunities to do more, the most he had ever done was _look_. 

She brought it up to him the next evening as they were settling in after a long day. He was kicking off his shoes by the front door, about to come to the living room where she was hesitating between sitting on the couch or fleeing to the kitchen. 

“Erik,” she asked meekly as he entered the room. “Am I- am I a good wife?”

He looked surprised at the question. 

“Of course you are, dear,” he assured her, drawing close to pat her back. 

She looked away, her brows knitting. 

“Are you sure?”

She didn’t think a good wife would evade her husband’s bed for seven weeks. 

“I’m sure,” he took his mask off and placed it on the coffee table. 

“You don’t want- there’s not anything you- you wish I would do differently? There’s not anything else you want from me?”

“Christine-“

He came and stood in front of her, placing one hand on either side of her face, tilting her head up to look at his scarred visage, his gaze deep and serious. 

“There’s not a single thing more I could want from you, Christine Daaé,” he murmured as she stared into his eyes. 

“Oh,” was all she could muster. She couldn’t understand why she felt disappointed. 

He stayed there a second longer, holding her face and brushing his thumbs across her cheekbones. For a brief instant she thought he might kiss her, but the moment passed, and he let his hands drop. 

“Where do you want to go for breakfast tomorrow?” he asked as he sat on the couch, turning the tv on. 

At a loss, she sat down next to him, watching the tv without really processing what was on the screen. 

“Anywhere,” she said. “It’s our last day here. You pick.”

“You sure?”

“Mm hmm.”

She scooted closer to him, leaning against his arm. Despite his protests in Santorini, he hadn’t had any more bouts of not wanting her to touch him, though there were occasions, such as now, that he’d pretend he didn’t notice or didn’t react. He simply let her lean against him, making no effort to rearrange her or hold her, but not pushing her away or asking her to stop. Maybe he’d thought about what she’d said, or maybe how frightened he became with the passing of time caused him to no longer mind pretending as much. 

He hadn’t said anything, but she didn’t think it was her imagination that his hands looked somewhat less skeletal lately - something she would have taken as a good sign had she not known that it was likely swelling and inflammation from his condition progressing. She’d noticed, also, occasions were a look of discomfort would pass across his face, or when he’d rub at a joint, and she knew it must be paining him. She couldn’t blame him if he was preferring a fantasy to reality right now. 

She hadn’t been entirely truthful with him, either. She’d said that she was used to physical contact with Raoul, and that was true - but she’d never wanted Raoul’s touch as much as she wanted Erik’s. She’d never reached for Raoul’s hand so many times in a day, or leaned against him so readily. She’d be ashamed if Raoul could see her now, practically fawning over Erik. 

She glanced up at him, worried, but his attention was absorbed by the television program. 

She slowly turned her own focus to the program, trying not to think too much about why she wanted to be so close to Erik or why he felt like such a comforting, safe presence or what the name was of the feeling that was swiftly growing in her heart.


	16. Chapter 16

The hotel in Madrid had connected rooms, just like in Greece, only now there was even more of a blur between whose room was whose, and most of the time the door between them was left open, even at night. 

“What are you writing?” she asked, as she saw him with a pen and a leather bound notebook, writing intently as he sat at the tiny desk in his room. 

“Something for you,” he murmured, not looking up. 

She came over and stood behind him, resting her arms around his neck as she peered down over his shoulder at the book. 

He flipped to the very first page to show her what he had written there. 

_Charles Erik Carrière’s Book of Musical and Vocal Instruction for Christine Daaé_

She blinked, and he began to flip through the other pages, showing them to her. 

“We won’t get to fully finish your training, I’m afraid,” he said. “So every time I have a few spare moments, I write down some advice for you, for the future. It might not be the same as actually getting a lesson in person, but I think it’s the best we can manage, considering.”

“Oh, Erik-“ she breathed. “You wrote all this for me?”

There was page after page after page of detailed instruction for singing, composing, breathing exercises, vocal exercises, and on some pages he had even sketched diagrams and charts. The book was nearly halfway filled with what looked to be a lifetime’s worth of knowledge, and he had put it all down on paper just for her. 

“Of course. I made a promise. I keep my promises, Christine. This will help you even after- _after_ , to keep singing and improving no matter what.”

“Let me see the title again?” she asked. 

He showed her. 

“You used my maiden name,” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow. 

It was something she noticed he often did - refer to her by “Daaé”, even though her name had legally been changed to Carrière. Sometimes it felt good to know, that he still considered her her own person and not merely an extension of himself, but somehow seeing her name this way on the paper didn’t feel quite right. 

“Mmm. So I did,” he agreed. 

“But that’s not my name,” she pressed. 

“Ah,” he said. “I think I know what you want instead - Christine, uh- Christine- what’s your boy’s last name? The one you jilted for me?”

She snickered. 

“De Chagny,” she reminded him. 

“Christine de Chagny, that’s what you want it to say, I bet. Should I change it?” 

She shook her head, resting her cheek against his. 

“No,” she said. “Not to that.”

“Well, to what, then?”

She blushed and replied quietly, shyly. 

“Christine Daaé-Carrière.”

He was silent a moment, then scrawled a hyphen and his last name after hers in the book. 

“Thank you,” she told him, grinning. 

“Your marriage to me is really something you want immortalized?” he mused sarcastically. 

She became very serious, her grin disappearing. 

“I’ll always want to remember you, Erik. Always.”

“Always is a terribly long time.”

“I hope so,” she whispered, standing up.

Erik swallowed hard, glancing away from her. 

“Consider it my wedding present you, for when you marry the boy,” he said, and there was a certain tension around his jaw. 

She looked down at her feet, pulling away from him and squeezing her hands together. She wanted to refute him somehow, but didn’t know what to say. Why did she recoil at the thought of marrying Raoul so soon? 

They didn’t speak on the book - or her impending marriage - again, and their little un-normal life went back to normal. They went to dinner, they went sightseeing, they went to shows. Neither one mentioned Raoul. 

They went to another opera, _La Traviata_ this time. It was beautiful and haunting, and after it was over, as they waited for a cab out on the sidewalk, she turned to Erik and hugged him tightly. He returned the embrace, not saying anything. They stayed like that until their cab arrived. 

It was the strangest thing, she thought. She couldn’t pinpoint when it had started happening, but sometime more and more recently she’d feel a strange, melancholy emotion, and it seemed to only ease when she was near him. She couldn’t name it, nor could she name what she felt when he was holding her. She didn’t want to name either of them. She was afraid to do so. 

“The show was lovely,” he murmured to her in the backseat of the cab. 

“It was,” she agreed quietly, reaching her hand across the worn fabric seat to hold his hand. 

He squeezed her hand, looking at it with a hint of awe that she would so willingly welcome his touch and go so far as to seek it out. 

How often she wished she knew what was going on in his mind. That look was often on his face, when she’d reach out to touch him, or when he thought she wasn’t looking. He looked at her like a child might look at a puppy in a pet shop window, full of a longing that he knew would go unfulfilled yet longed for all the same. 

How often she wished she knew her own mind. 

The day after the opera was spent at museums, with breaks to sit on benches every now and then. She watched him carefully for any signs he was getting out of breath, but either he was good at hiding it or it was his arthritis was acting up again. 

He seemed to catch her examining him from the corner of her eye as they sat in the middle of a room in the giant museum. He smirked wryly. 

“Well, cross another one off the bucket list, my dear - I do believe we’ve sat on every bench in the museum.”

She ducked her head and smiled. 

“I’m not complaining,” she chuckled. 

“Oh?”

“No, I like it.”

“You like sitting on a bench?” he asked, skeptical, raising an eyebrow under his mask. 

“I like spending time with you.”

“But the bench plays an integral part, surely.”

“Oh,” she smiled. “ _Certainly_.”

They rested there a little longer, and her eyes fell to her wedding ring. It still surprised her, sometimes, just how big it was, but she’d gotten used to the weight of it. How different it was from Raoul’s ring, she mused, then glanced up to Erik. How different he was from Raoul. 

They got up and began to look at the rest of the museum, Erik reaching his hand out for hers, a request she quickly granted. 

She knew the purpose of art was to evoke an emotional response, but she couldn’t quite figure out why last exhibit made her feel the way she did. There were so very many reasons it shouldn’t, and yet it did. 

It was art, for one. There was nothing shameful about _art_. There was nothing scandalous or indecent about the paintings in front of her - or rather, they might have been scandalous when they were created so long ago, but surely not in the modern, forward thinking year of 1972. And secondly, she was a medical professional. There was nothing shameful about the human body, she fully believed this. She was no prude, and though she might consider herself _modest_ in regards to her own body, she’d never been bothered by others who felt less modestly about their bodies. 

So why did this exhibit, with its lush, extravagant oil paintings of nudes - some of them lovers locked in passionate embrace - make her feel so embarrassed? 

Her hand felt sweaty as Erik held it, the normally cool touch of his skin was now much too warm for her liking but she refused to pull away. She felt an odd, awkward smile stretch at her lips, and her eyes darted here and there to keep from staring at any one place on the paintings too long. 

“That’s beautiful,” Erik murmured about one, and she felt hot and cold at the same time. 

“Mm!” she managed to squeak out as she furtively lifted her eyes to the larger-than-life depiction of a gorgeous garden with delicate birds and wispy clouds in the translucent sky... and a young man taking his pretty young lover right there on the grass. 

She looked up at the ceiling, her face warm and pink, and tried to frantically push away the thought that had come suddenly and unbidden - a vision of her and Erik in the same position. What on earth was wrong with her, to think such things like that? She brought a hand to her forehead, wondering if she had a fever. 

“Are you alright?” Erik asked, his golden eyes full of concern. “You look like something’s wrong.”

“No! No, I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong,” she tried to deny. 

He narrowed his eyes st her. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure!” 

“I’d be more inclined to believe you if that wasn’t the exact same tone you used when I asked if you understood the cubism style.”

She rolled her eyes and squeezed his hand. 

“Erik, I understood it, I just didn’t like it.”

“To know it is to love it, Christine,” he insisted, and she couldn’t help but smile. 

Hr turned to fully face her, and with his unoccupied hand he patted her back. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked softly. 

She nodded, her throat closed off by emotion. How he cared for her. 

They continued to look at the rest of the artwork, and her embarrassed feeling lingered, but after a while she was able to put her finger on part of why it felt so strange. 

Embarrassment was an emotion that made her want to hide someplace away from everyone else until the feeling passed - but right then all she wanted was for Erik to hold her close until the feeling passed, to be able to hide in his arms. It was an odd contrast - she was embarrassed because of Erik, but he was the only one she wanted to comfort her. 

She glanced surreptitiously at him, wondering if he was feeling it too. Did he wish he could do those things with her, touch her bare back, bury his face in her neck? Wasn’t it awkward to look at some of these images, with her there? But he seemed unflustered by it all, gazing with a critical eye at the nudes in the same way he studied the landscapes that had no people in them. 

They continued through the rest of the exhibit, and finished their museum trip. 

The next day he seemed to have a little more energy, and she felt relieved to see it. He wanted to stroll the street and admire the architecture, and she had readily agreed. Architecture was something she’d given very little thought to in the past, but she was beginning to enjoy it, and associate it with him. 

On the other side of the street there was a lovely little cathedral, and as they slowed down to look at it a throng of joyful people burst forth from its doors. A wedding had taken place. The bride and groom were laughing joyfully as they ran down the steps, their friends and family throwing rose petals at them as the bells atop the church rang out. 

Erik smiled at the sight, his hand straying to his own wedding ring to fiddled with it, rubbing it and turning it around a little. 

Christine felt a curious mix of emotion - surprisingly wistful, and, when she saw Erik playing his ring, crushingly guilty. They could have had a church wedding. Erik had said he didn’t care about that, but she couldn’t help but feel that maybe he did. 

The wedding party passed by, and Erik looked at Christine, giving her smile that only barely hid his sadness. 

“Erik,” she whispered, swallowing hard. “Do you want us to-“

“Why don’t we stop for a little lunch break, my dear?” he interrupted her, and she blinked a moment before nodding. Neither one mentioned a wedding again.

She didn’t know why she was reconsidering it. She’d get a church wedding with Raoul in about five months time, but for some reason that didn’t sound satisfying. A church wedding with Erik, however, sounded appealing in a way it hadn’t before. Still, she didn’t bring it up. Erik’s change of subject had been firm enough, and she knew he knew what she was going to ask. Why he didn’t want to even discuss a church wedding was as much a mystery to her as her own wish that they could have one. 

It seemed she knew her own mind less and less lately. 

She thought that was especially true one evening as she stared at herself in the mirror of her bathroom. Erik wanted to finally go swimming in the hotel’s pool, and he was in his own room, changing. This was the first time they’d be swimming together, the first time he’d see her in something less than several layers. 

Why had she bought this swimsuit? What had she been thinking? 

She wrinkled her nose at her reflection. She must have been caught up in some wild fantasy of traveling and being a different person when she’d bought it, because she normally never wore things like _this_. It was cut so high over the hips... And so low over her chest. She turned to look at how it fitted in the back, and a look of faint horror passed over her face. 

Had her ass always had that much cellulite? 

She bit her lip and pulled the suit down as far as it would go over her butt. It wasn’t wildly outrageous - a forest green one piece that she had thought quite charming in the store. Once her body was in it, however... She was no longer so sure of its charm. 

She stood there a few moments longer, utterly baffled and caught between the worry that Erik would _look_ at her and the worry that he wouldn’t find her attractive. Why did she want to be attractive to him? It made no sense. 

She pulled the front of the suit up, her face turning pink, and wished that certain things weren’t slightly... lopsided. Was she really going to wear this around Erik? She might as well go naked! 

She picked at the hopeless hems above her hips and hoped she wouldn’t regret this. It was a rather pathetic feeling, really, but she hoped that if Erik did _look_ that he’d like what he saw. It was with that in mind that she tugged the neckline back down, just a little, before quickly throwing her beach coverup over herself before she could change her mind. 

She put on her sandals and smoothed back her hair, closing her eyes as she prayed that Erik was wearing something other than a Speedo. 

“Erik,” she said at last, leaning against the closed shared door. “I’m ready.”

“Just a moment, dear,” he said absently from the other side. 

She met him out in the hallway as she clung to her folded beach towel, holding it front of herself. He was, luckily for her, wearing a baggy, unbuttoned shortsleeved shirt over swim shorts that were blessedly longer that she was fearing they might be. She couldn’t help how eyes gravitated to his bare legs, her gaze darting away before daring another look. She’d seen him wear shorts before, in Greece and sometimes in Rome, but those had always gone to just above his knee. There was an entirely unexplored territory above said knee, but she tried resolutely to avoid looking at it as they walked to the elevator and rode it to the ground floor and walked out to the pool. 

“You’re sure it’s okay?” he mused as they approached it. 

She nodded. 

“Just don’t overdo it. Mild exercise is good for you - overexerting yourself isn’t.”

He picked two lounge chairs for them and pulled them closer to the edge of the pool, glancing about at the handful of other swimmers nervously. He seemed just as nervous as Christine had while looking in the mirror - she couldn’t imagine that he was overeager for anyone to be looking at him, either. 

“Are you going first?” he asked her, a slight anxiety to his voice. 

“Um, no, you can,” she fidgeted, not wanting him to be there when she took her coverup off. 

He looked dolefully at her before quickly taking his shirt off, tossing it on the chair, and stepping into the pool as fast as he could. In the brief moment before he was covered by the water, she caught a glimpse of some long scars across his back. 

Before he had a chance to turn around and look, she pulled her coverup off and got in the pool, breathing a sigh of relief as the water went up to her chin. 

Erik awkwardly swam a slow lap or two, careful to not get any water on his mask. Christine likewise put in an attempt at a lap but gave up, not wanting to get her hair wet. Eventually he came over to stand next to her by the edge of the pool wall. 

“I used to be quite good at swimming, you know,” he told her a little wistfully. 

“Oh?”

“But I’d always take my mask off. I was _fast_ ,” he smiled, thinking back on the old days. “Oh, I wish you could have seen me.”

She smiled, a little sadly. The sun was just beginning to set in the sky, turning the clouds purple and orange before the sky would eventually go dark completely, and though it was beautiful, it made her feel melancholy, thinking about the sunset of Erik’s life and of their time together. She looked down at the water, the wavy image of her own legs, feet, toes under the water that was illuminated a warm green by the lights inside the pool. 

“I wish I could have, too,” she whispered. 

“Do you want to go in the hot tub?” he asked suddenly. “I want to. Come sit in it with me.”

She looked up, surprised as Erik made to get out of the pool. 

“Erik-“ she quickly followed him, forgetting all about trying to get another glimpse of his bare back. “Erik you can’t.”

He turned and looked at her, baffled. 

“What?”

“You can’t get in the hot tub,” she told him, pulling her coverup around her. “It’ll make your condition worse.”

He shrugged. 

“Just sit with me a few minutes-“

“You could die,” she told him quietly, coming closer to him. 

His face fell and his shoulders slumped. 

“Are you serious?”

“The hot water will cause your blood pressure to drop, which could lead to a heart attack.”

“Even if I just-“

Her brow knit together. 

“Erik, the only way you could sit in a hot tub is if it isn’t hot,” she told him, and, noticing how sad he looked, added- “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Oh.”

He shrugged a little again, trying to pretend he wasn’t bothered, but she could tell otherwise. He draped his towel over his shoulders. 

“You should still sit in it,” he told her. “Don’t let my not being able to stop you.”

“No, I’ll sit with you on the chairs, it’s okay,” she said. 

He shook his head. 

“No, no - go sit in the hot tub, Christine.”

She was about to refuse and opened her mouth to say so, but then she closed it again. It didn’t make sense to her, but if it was what he wanted... 

She walked over to the hot tub, which was thankfully empty, regretting her earlier decision to pull the neckline of her swimsuit down, and wondered if she could still pull it up without him noticing or drawing attention to it. As she stood near the steps leading down into the hot tub, she took a deep breath and removed her coverup. She folded it and placed it on a nearby chair with her towel, glancing up at Erik who was looking away. Relieved - surely not disappointed, no - she turned to walk down the steps, her hands gripping the rails. She glanced up again, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw that Erik was looking at her. 

Not merely looking at, but _looking_ at her. He was trying to be discrete about it, but there was no mistaking the hungry, wolfish glint to his eyes as he dragged his gaze up her body, stopped before making eye contact, and then lowered his gaze down her again. 

She nearly slipped and fell in the hot tub out of surprise, but she managed to keep her footing. Her face felt hot, but it had nothing to do with the steam and bubbling hot water she sat down in. She had looked away once she’d realized he was ogling her, but a quick glance back at him showed he hadn’t stopped. She tried to swallow around a lump in her throat. Was this why he had wanted her get in the hot tub? So he could look at her? 

Men staring at her had never been something she’d taken well to. It made her feel uncomfortable on the best of days and unsafe on the worst of days. She knew Raoul had liked the look of her, but she’d told him before, in an offhand manner, how men’s gazes made her feel, and he’d always tried to be respectful about it, even though she’d never had to ask him not to stare. It was one of the reasons she’d felt safe with him. He’d never looked at her like she was a piece of meat on a plate. 

Erik was currently staring at her like she was a four course meal and he was a starving man. 

Rationally, her reaction would normally have been to get out of the hot tub and grab her towel around herself, march up to the offending man, and slap him hard across the face - or at least _want_ to do so. Which was why she was surprised she found herself leaning back a little, propping her elbows on the edge of the tub, a slight arch to her spine as she looked away, too embarrassed to look at him. Perhaps she’d done the right thing in not pulling the neckline up higher, after all. 

With Erik’s intense eyes on her, she didn’t feel any of the things she’d have expected to feel - ashamed, unsafe, a little gross. Instead she felt oddly flattered, and she couldn’t explain it at all. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she actually _wanted_ him to look. 

She knew better... Didn’t she? 

She dragged her eyes up to look at him as he slouched in his chair. After a long moment he glanced up from her chest and held eye contact with her. Unblinking, she shifted how she was sitting so that he could have a better view. His eyes roved over her and he rubbed his fingers across his lips. A moment later he stood and quickly walked away, leaving her a little confused. She watched as he found one of the hotel employees and told him something. The employee shrugged and shook his head, but Erik pulled something out of the pocket of his shirt and handed it to the man, who started nodding before turning and leaving, disappearing around a corner. Erik made his way over to the chair he’d come from, his back to Christine. 

She remained puzzled, both about what he’d done and also why he wasn’t looking at her anymore. It was as she was puzzling over this that she started to notice the water felt less warm than it had before. She thought it was her imagination at first, but sure enough the water seemed to have cooled down. 

Erik came over to the edge of the tub. 

“Christine,” he asked presently, politely, his gaze pointedly on her face and nowhere else. “Is the water still too hot for me?”

She stared at him, dumbfounded, and shook her head. 

“No,” she said at last. “I don’t think so.”

He grinned, and sat down next to her a respectful distance between them. 

“Did- did you ask them to cool the water down?” 

“He was happy to do it, Christine,” he defended. 

She was sure the young man had been happy to do it - or rather, had been happy with the bribe Erik had given him. Still, she couldn’t be mad at him. 

“Oh Erik,” she sighed, and left it at that. 

“It’s such a lovely evening,” he murmured. 

“Mm.”

The stars were starting to come out. Erik had his gaze up on them, and not on her. She felt strangely safe around him, even if he had been staring not too long ago. He was acting quite the gentleman now, even though they were both aware of what had occurred. Neither did she feel the need to cover up or hide from him. 

They sat there in the slightly-warmer-than-the-pool tub and watched the stars for a while. 

At last they got out and began to dry off, getting ready to go back to their room. Christine tried to secretly glance at him to see if he was staring again, but he looked like he had other things on his mind. 

They parted to each take a shower and change for bed, but afterwards, Christine lingered by the open door between their rooms. It was the silliest thing - they’d just seen each other not even an hour ago, but she missed him. 

“Erik,” she said when she saw him. “Do you want to order some snacks from room service?”

“Sure,” he told her, motioning for her to join him in his room. “What would you like to get, my dear?”

Soon they were sitting on the couch together, an array of plates on the table in front of them - chicken wings, prawns, chocolate churros - both of them dressed in their pajamas with robes over top that. Christine could scarcely believe this sweet old man had been the same one who had so recently stared in such a lewd manner. She studied him from the corner of her eye as she ate her food. 

As much as she tried to tell herself what she thought the reasons were for her reaction (or lack thereof) to his ogling her - she was his wife and he had a right to look, he wasn’t going to get much chance to look again so she’d better let him, that she was only letting him look because she knew he wanted to - she couldn’t deny that it had felt so strangely _gratifying_ to have him look that at her that way. For all that time she’d stood in front of the mirror and worried over her cellulite and stretch marks and freckles, worried that she didn’t quite measure up to the movie stars or all the lovely women they’d seen in passing on their travels - and yet Erik looked at her as though she were the single most attractive, beautiful thing on earth. It made her feel unexpectedly and unexplainably warm inside. She’d have thought she’d be offended to be looked at like that, but instead she felt only comforted. 

She leaned her head on his shoulder, surprising him. 

He smiled around the prawn in his mouth, chuckling lightly, and wrapped and arm around her shoulders, squeezing her a little. 

She snuggled closer, sighing happily before continuing to eat a churro. 

“You’re wearing your ring,” he teased. 

She wrinkled her nose. She put the ring back on after her shower. 

“You are too,” she countered. 

He chuckled darkly. 

“Of course, silly girl. But it’s different for me.”

“I like wearing it,” she said, looking away even as she leaned closer, her cheeks pink. 

He laughed out loud, but not unkindly. 

They finished their meal, Christine coaxing him into eating a chocolate churro (which he was suspicious of at first) by feeding it to him. He admitted that it was better than he had expected, but he owed that to the fact of how he’d eaten it from her hand. They lingered a while on the couch, making small talk and giggling over silly things, and at last they reluctantly parted. 

As Christine sank under the blankets and crisp, cool sheets of her own bed, she looked at the ring on her hand. She thought about how Erik had kneeled and placed it so gently on her finger, the look of adoration on his face as he did so. About how he’d asked if he could buy her one. 

She thought of Raoul, and his ring, and how he’d put it on her finger. He hadn’t even asked. 

They hadn’t even been dating, not really - at least she hadn’t thought so. Maybe Raoul had seen it differently. She’d thought them friends, good friends. And Raoul had been a good friend to her for so very many years. He’d supported her and listened to her and protected her. 

And when she’d walked out of the suddenly quiet hospital room of her father for the last time, too numb to feel anything, too shocked to even cry yet, she’d fallen right into Raoul’s embrace. In her haze she realized Raoul was saying something. 

“I’m so sorry, Christine. He was a great man,” he murmured as he held her, and she nodded once against his shoulder. 

“You know,” he continued. “I spoke with him a few days ago about something. I promised him I’d always watch out for you, and take care of you. I asked his permission, too, and he agreed, and-“

He took her hand from his shoulder, and she let him, not realizing what was happening until she felt the cool metal of a ring being slid onto her finger. She glanced down at the little diamond on the gold band. 

“You’ll marry me, won’t you, Lotte?”

She didn’t want to get married. She didn’t want anything. She only wanted her father back, but he was gone now. She closed her weary eyes. 

Life was hard. She knew that now more than ever. Life was hard, and it was cruel, and it was hardest and cruelest to young women who were all alone in the world. She was so tired of fighting, of being strong. She was so tired of everything. She rested her head on his chest, resigning herself to her fate. She’d given up fighting, and was ready to fade into whatever role she was expected to take next. She was too tired for anything else. 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

Raoul had always been there for her, and he’d be true to his word, she knew. She didn’t want to marry, but if she had to- 

She could do worse than Raoul. Raoul, who called her up at night when she was stressed and talked her down from the heights of her anxiety. Raoul, who never pushed her to do anything she didn’t want to. Raoul, who helped her study for her exams and offered a shoulder to cry on and an ear to whisper in. She loved Raoul. She just didn’t love the thought of being a wife to anyone. Still, Raoul would be a good husband to her. She couldn’t ask for more. 

At least, she hadn’t thought she could ask for more at the time. Now, with Erik- 

Maybe there really was more. 

Her eyes slid closed, the giant ring from Erik the last thing she remembered seeing before falling asleep. When she awoke in the morning, she smiled, not quite certain why. She rolled over and stretched, images from last night coming back to her. The pool, the stars, her swimsuit, the churros, leaning against Erik, her cool sheets, her ring... 

Running her hand through the sparse hair on his chest, feeling his mouth on her neck, the weight of him overtop her on the bed. 

She sucked in a breath, her eyes flying wide open. Oh- oh no- has she and Erik-?

She sat up sharply, her heart pounding. Had they-?

But no, no- they couldn’t have. She rubbed a hand across her neck, dispelling the phantom touch there. Erik hadn’t even come in her room last night. No - it must have been nothing more than a dream. 

She flopped back on her pillows, relieved. Not relieved that she hadn’t done those things with him, but relieved that he hadn’t left her to wake alone after they had. Still- why on earth was she having sex dreams about _Erik_? Why was she having those dreams to begin with?! 

She got out of bed, desperately hoping that she hadn’t made any sort of _noise_ during the dream that Erik could hear. She spotted him right away in his own room when she peeked through the door. 

“Good morning, dear,” he smiled as he glanced over at her, the same smiled he’d always given her. “You know, I think the water jets in the hot tub last night helped my back.”

He placed his hands over his lumbar arch and leaned slightly to each side, showing off his meager newfound flexibility. 

“Mm!” was all she managed, still embarrassed. 

His back problems - she’d forgotten. Of course he wouldn’t be able to do the things he’d done in her dream, not in that way - his back wouldn’t let him. Of course it hadn’t really happened. 

She stared at him a moment longer. So many years she’d spent with Raoul, so many times they’d kissed and made out and she’d let him take small liberties here and there, and never once had she dreamt about anything more than a kiss on the cheek with him. And now- with Erik- 

Was _this_ that strange feeling she’d never wanted to name? Did she want- with him-? Was this what men felt for women? Was this what Erik felt that made him stare at her last night in the pool? She’d never felt this before. It wasn’t just that she’d never felt it for Raoul - she’d never felt that towards anyone. She hadn’t even known that she _could_ feel it. 

“Christine?” Erik faltered. “What’s wrong?”

She turned away quickly, embarrassed. She’d been staring. 

“Nothing!” she called out, wrapping her arms around herself, her voice just a little too shrill. 

She was mistaken. Surely she was mistaken! Why would she feel this for Erik but not for Raoul? 

“Christine-“ Erik followed her into her room, knowing something was off with his poor little wife. Was she ill? 

He reached a hand out to place on her shoulder, intent on turning her to face him. But she drew back from him, jerking her arm away, and before she could stop herself the words were out of her mouth. 

“Don’t touch me!”

He snatched his hand away as though he’d been burned, and she caught the tail end of the hurt that flashed through his eyes. He turned and immediately left the room without another word, closing the door between their rooms. She heard the click of the lock as he turned it. 

She brought a hand up to her throat. She hadn’t meant- it hadn’t been her intention- she never wanted him to think- 

She had only wanted him to not touch her because in that moment, she hadn’t trusted herself to not fall into his arms and kiss him like the remnant of her dream was prodding her to do. Instead she’d ended up hurting him, making him think that she thought he was some kind of monster trying to lay his hands on her. 

She wanted to cry. 

She dressed quickly, the threat of tears making her eyes sting. It wasn’t Erik’s fault, not any of it. How was he supposed to know? A misunderstanding, but a grave one. He really was a very sensitive man. 

“Erik,” she knocked on the locked door. “Are you ready to go?”

Silence. 

She bit her lip. 

“I’m sorry,” she tried. “Erik, I didn’t mean it. You caught me at a bad time was all.”

She waited so long by the door with no reply that very nearly started crying. At last the little lock on his side turned, and he opened the door. He looked at her with a reserved expression. 

“Are you ready for the museum?” he asked, his tone flat. 

“Yes.”

All through the museum he kept his distance, even when she tried to bridge it. He even went so far as to pull away when she tried to hold his hand. It hurt more than she realized it would. 

“Erik,” she whispered, motioning for him to join her in a more private corner. “I’m sorry.”

She looked up at him with pleading eyes. 

“I didn’t think about what I was saying. Please, I don’t mind you touching me.”

He was quiet, studying her face. 

“Was it about last night?” he asked, regret in his voice. 

She blinked. 

“Last night?”

Oh, they hadn’t actually- had they? 

“At the pool,” he clarified, shifting from foot to foot, too ashamed to meet her eye. “At the hot tub.”

_Oh_. 

“No,” she insisted. “No, I don’t mind that. I’m not mad at you, Erik, or uncomfortable. When I said don’t touch me, I meant right then, not- not don’t touch me ever again.”

He nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. 

She shook her head. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” she said softly. 

He smiled wryly. 

“I’m still sorry, all the same.”

She smiled a little. 

“Are we okay, then?”

“Yeah.”

She held her hand out to him, and he took it, and they walked the rest of museum hand in hand, their iciness melting away. 

Over the next few days he was hesitant around her, but eventually he warmed up to their previous level of friendliness. He still seemed hesitant around her, as though he were afraid that she’d send him away again or snap at him, but she took every opportunity to smile at him and show him that she enjoyed his presence. 

With the sudden need to reassure him that they were still on good terms, she barely had much time to consider her own sudden problem. She wanted Erik to know they were friends, that she liked him, that he wasn’t repulsive to her and didn’t frighten her, and she knew that if she suddenly showed an interest in anything more with him, she ran the risk of making him suspicious that she was merely pretending. Besides, she still wasn’t sure of it all herself. This new feeling was unmooring, and she needed time to think about it. 

She was painfully aware, however, that time was the one thing Erik didn’t have. 

By the time it was almost time to leave Spain, she felt that she and Erik were finally back to how they’d been with each other before she’d snapped at him. He seemed to believe that she didn’t mind his touch, and he even sought it out on occasion. 

The balcony attached to her room was small, just big enough to stand on and not much else. The view was of the other buildings across the street, but above that, the stars could be seen. 

She stood there, the gentle breeze blowing through the thin curtains, the sound of city life going on below. 

Erik cautiously came to stand behind her. She couldn’t see him but she could practically feel the nervousness radiating off of him. It made her smile. 

“It’s lovely out tonight,” he tried an attempt at conversation as he placed his hands lightly on top of her shoulders, waiting for her to pull away. 

But she didn’t pull away. 

“Isn’t it?” she agreed, glancing back at him with a soft smile. 

He breathed a sigh of relief and inched closer to her. 

“A fitting penultimate goodbye to the city,” he mused, letting a hand slide gently down her arm. 

“Reykjavik up next,” she said. “I’m sure it’ll be just as lovely there.”

“Hm,” he made a noise of agreement, the hand that hadn’t moved lower switching to rest on her other shoulder, his arm wrapped around her décolletage. 

His other arm wrapped around her waist, hesitantly and slowly. 

She closed her eyes for a long moment. It still almost surprised her to find that she _enjoyed_ being held by him like this. She could feel his masked cheek brushing against her hair. It was a pleasant feeling, comfortable and sweet, being in his arms like that. Except his hold on her was so loose, presumably to allow her to escape should she want to. But she didn’t want to. Why wouldn’t he hold her tighter? 

She leaned back against his chest, feeling his breathing stutter as she did so. She put her hands on his arms and pulled them closer around her, drawing a shy and nervous chuckle from him. 

He squeezed her shoulder and hip slightly, making her smile. Raoul had used to hold her like this, sometimes, and she’d liked it even then. She leaned her head back to rest on his shoulder, scooting backwards to remove the space between them. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt it. 

Erik froze, then, when he realized she had noticed, quickly let go of her and stepped backwards into the room. He cleared his throat, his face burning under the mask. 

“Erik,” she turned to face him. “It’s alright, it’s normal-“

“Goodnight, Christine,” he swiftly departed for his own room. 

She sighed. Maybe she shouldn’t have leaned against him so. It was understandable, now, why he had tried to keep space between them, trying to keep her from feeling the press of his arousal against the small of her back. 

But just because she’d felt it didn’t mean he had to _leave_. They were married, she’d liked how he was holding her, and it was only a natural physiological reaction in response to stimulus - he didn’t have to act like he’d marred her innocence by letting her know he had a boner. Besides- it wasn’t anything she hadn’t felt from Raoul countless time before when they had cuddled. She hadn’t minded it then, and she hadn’t particularly minded it now - it was only an issue if one of them felt it was an issue. 

Did Erik think it was a problem? He was attracted to her, and didn’t want her to think that he was trying to coerce anything out of her or push for something she didn’t want to give him - that was the most obvious answer to why he’d left. He was trying to be a gentleman, and it was very endearing. 

She left the balcony and sat on her bed with a sigh. She felt oddly conflicted in a way she never had before. Should she go after him? She picked at the sheets, considering it. They were _married_. For as much as they’d both agreed the marriage was only to smooth along legal matters, he was seemingly attracted to her. And he was dying. If her husband desired her, wasn’t it cruel to deny him in his final months? She blinked against the sting in her eyes, a lump rising in her throat. She should go to him. 

She stood and walked to the door, her resolve weakening as she put her hand on the doorknob. 

How many times had she considered this with Raoul, and how many times had she decided against it, knowing that she didn’t owe him anything simply because he _desired_ it? She didn’t owe Erik that, even if a piece of paper said otherwise, even if her leaning against him had been the cause of it. And yet- 

She was still considering it. He wanted it, and it was in her power to give it. Did she want to?

She turned away from the door, swallowing hard and wrapping her arms around herself. 

If she did it, if she went to his room right now- it didn’t have to mean anything, not to her. She certainly didn’t have to enjoy it for him to get something out of it. It would be purely for him - it certainly wasn’t an experience he was going to get anywhere else. It might hurt for her during the act. Erik was much bigger than Raoul - taller, but thinner - and, from what she had felt, his height wasn’t the only thing about him that exceeded Raoul’s size. She bit her lip thinking about it. She could manage, even still. She could ask him to be gentle, at least. He would surely be considerate in that matter. 

She quickly turned from her pacing and stared at the door. Did she really want to do this? A few short steps, a knock on the door, a touch, a few murmured words - _be gentle with me_ \- and it would happen and be over with in under a hour, most likely. It was entirely her choice. 

She closed her eyes and turned back to her own bed. That was the problem, wasn’t it? It was her choice. Erik wasn’t asking, explicitly or even implicitly. If she did this, it would be because she wanted to. She didn’t _want_ to, did she? She didn’t want to _want_ to do it. She had Raoul, who was expecting her to come back to him as a widowed virgin, and she had Erik, who very clearly had accepted that there would be no consummation of their marriage. To go to Erik’s room and offer him this felt like the admission of some secret guilt, like admitting that she had feelings for him that exceeded the bounds of what they’d set for themselves. And she didn’t, did she? Surely she didn’t really feel anything for Erik that she’d never felt for Raoul. She’d never seen the need to deal with any of Raoul’s _pressing needs_ , so there was certainly no reason she needed to deal with Erik’s. So why now, with Erik, did she feel like she should? 

But she didn’t. She stayed there in her own room, feeling strangely melancholy, missing the feel of his chest on her back, of his hand on her hip, and thinking of poor Erik in the room across from her, all alone just like she was. 

She didn’t want to sleep with him, that was what she told herself. 

What was harder to come to terms with was the fear of finding out that _he_ didn’t want to sleep with _her_ , that he’d moved away because he hadn’t wanted her to get the wrong idea, that his reaction had simply been caused by his not being used to standing so close to someone. She didn’t know why the thought of going in his room and offering him the joys of her flesh only to be _turned down_ felt like it would break her heart, but she felt it all the same, in all its confusing strength. 

Was Erik attracted to her because he was attracted to _her_ or was he simply a man reacting to the proximity of a woman? 

It was a thought that haunted her all the while she was preparing for bed. She pulled her blankets around her as she got into the bed, wrapping them around her in a way she told herself was for warmth. It definitely was not to pretend that someone was holding her as she slept. 

She woke up feeling oddly lonely the next morning. It was their last day in Spain. She realized with no small amount of guilt that she hadn’t even tried to contact Raoul since arriving. She sighed as she pulled some stationary out of her luggage, settling herself at the little desk in her room to begin writing. 

She fiddled with her pen, trying to find the words to put on the paper. She was turning thirty later that year, but in moments like these she still felt like a little lost child, unsure of herself and the world around her. 

She didn’t want to write to Raoul. She wanted to keep traveling and exploring with Erik, not having to think of her responsibilities and the life she’d left in France - the life she’d be returning to in several months time. 

She knew she should write to Raoul. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d loved her and waited for her for five long years, he’d let her marry Erik - he wasn’t happy with the situation, but he was trying. She loved him. But she had the sinking feeling that she loved someone else too. 

She shook her head. She was being silly. She put the pen to the paper. 

_Dear Raoul,  
We made it to Spain recently. The architecture here is beautiful! I’ll be sending some postcards, but I don’t know if this letter will get to you first or not. Everything is going fine, and I miss you. I think of you a lot. I hope you’re doing well, too.   
All my love, Christine_

She chewed on her lip, not liking how it had turned out. She crumped the paper and started over. 

Raoul deserved honesty. 

_Hi Raoul,  
I’m having a great time in Spain with Erik. I’m sorry that I don’t write as often, or call very much. The truth is I don’t think about you as much as I think I should, or at least not in the kind of way that makes me want to call you. Things with Erik are different than what I expected, and it’s honestly taken me by surprise. I never saw it coming, and I certainly didn’t plan it. And I’m hoping that you will overlook that indiscretion just as I’ve overlooked your indiscretions over the years. But you don’t have to worry. He’s still dying, and I still love you, too. I want you to know that no matter what happens here, I will still marry you when this is all over. I gave you my word, many times over, and I’m good for my word, Raoul. I mean it. I promised, and I’ll follow through. I will be a good wife to you when I come back, I promise, and I promise also that I’ll never utter a word to you of Erik and what we said and did during our marriage. I think that’s for the best, for everyone. You wouldn’t want to hear about them, anyway. It would only hurt you.   
With Love, Christine_

She pushed the letter aside, taking a deep breath. It was time to be honest. Fully, completely honest, for once. She started on a new sheet of paper. 

_Raoul,  
I never meant for this to happen, and I’m sorry. I’ve fallen in love with Erik. But it’s more than just that, Raoul. He’s changed my very life, and not just because of his money. I never knew a marriage could be like this, that instead of dragging me down, it could lift me up, too. I’m sorry to say I never considered it before, and certainly didn’t consider this as a possible outcome of any marriage between you and I. Will you hate me if I say that I still don’t think that it could be? I don’t think we’re suited for each other, I’m afraid. I want you to know that I never lied to you, not once. I do love you, Raoul. I’ve loved you for years, in my own way. I know you think, sometimes, that my own way of loving you isn’t enough. I know you try to not let me know that you think this, but I know. I’m doing the best I can, Raoul, with what I have at my disposal. I’m trying. And I’ll continue to try. I love you. I do. But I also love Erik. I feel things for him that I’ve never felt for anyone, not even you. I’m not sorry, Raoul, for the things I feel for Erik. I’m only sorry that I could never feel them for you, no matter how much we both wanted me to. I would have felt that for you if I could have, you know. That wasn’t my choice. That wasn’t under my control. By this is under my control - whether or not I marry you. I’m not going to marry you when Erik is gone, Raoul. I just couldn’t. I can’t picture a happy future with you as my husband, no matter how I try to spin it. Erik has utterly ruined me for anyone else, I’m afraid. I don’t want to tolerate with you what I yearn for with him. That wouldn’t be fair to me or to you. I would pretend for you, if I could, but you deserve better than that. I love you more than to pretend that our marriage could ever be close to what a marriage truly could be. I always thought a marriage meant two people becoming one, and that in that becoming, something would be lost. That I’d be less than I was before, that I would lose something of me. But when I’m with Erik, I’m more myself than I’ve ever been. It’s freeing, not stifling. But I know that it’s not always like that. And I know it won’t be like that between us. Does it surprise you, Raoul, to hear me speak so frankly? I’ll let you know the secret source of my courage - I’m never going to send this letter. You’ll never see this, or hear this, or know anything about it at all. I’m going to burn this letter, and with it - hopefully - burn away these thoughts that plague me so insistently. I wish I could have been what you wanted me to be, Raoul. But I can’t. And I can’t pretend. I’m sorry. I love you, but I’ll never be your wife.   
Wishing the best for you, always - Christine Carrière_

She stared down at her own handwriting, taking a moment to absorb all the things she’d just said. For a brief instant, she felt freer and lighter than she ever had before, possibly in her entire life. 

And then the guilt came crashing down. 

She grabbed the second two letters and searched in a drawer for a book of matches with a shaking hand. She had to erase what she’d done, take back what she’d said. 

How could she do that to Raoul?! Poor sweet Raoul whom she had promised. He was waiting for her, waiting for her to come back simply because she’d said she would. And she wasn’t going to keep her word to him? She wanted to ditch him, after he’d been there for her all those years? All for the crime of not being rich? She’d strung him along for years, and he’d played by every rule she’d set, and then she’d ran off with someone else. How could she not marry him? She _owed_ him. 

She rubbed at her eyes as she took the letters and matches down to the ground floor, stepping out into the little patch of dirt that served as a garden directly below her balcony. She squatted down in the middle of the daisies and herbs and roses and lit the match, her hands trembling as the honest letter went up in flames. She didn’t believe the things she’d written any less, but they were things she could never tell him. She watched as the paper was purged from the earth, desperately hoping she could purge and purify the thoughts - and feelings - from her own mind and soul just as easily. At last it burn away to nothing. 

She nearly burnt the other letter, too, but instead started to dig with her hands into the dirt of the garden, then shoved the letter down deep. She piled the dirt back on top of it, pressing it down hard, pressing her lips together as her tears fell on the spot she’d buried it. Her good intentions would become part of the earth, something to decay and nourish the plants that grew here. She hoped good things could grow of it, somehow. 

She wiped at her eye with the back of an earth-stained hand, her mind begging for forgiveness. She hadn’t meant to lead Raoul on in a relationship. She hadn’t meant to withhold affection from her dying husband. She hadn’t meant to get everything into such a huge, tangled mess, and yet here she was. 

She sniffled hard. She loved Erik. She loved Raoul. Both of these things were true. Beyond that- 

She didn’t really know anything at all. 

“Christine?” Eriks voice called out from inside the hotel room, echoing out through the open balcony. “Christine?”

He came and stood on the balcony, searching the street for her when he spotted her just below. 

“Christine, what are you doing down there?”

“I’m coming! Just a minute!”

She scrambled up from the garden, her heart pounding, and she raced up the stairs. 

“I thought we could be going soon,” he said when she arrived in her room. “I want to get brunch one last time at that little place down the way.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I just need to finish something up. I’ll be ready in a few minutes. 

He gave her her privacy, and she copied out the crumpled letter word for word onto a fresh piece of paper. She didn’t know what she was going to do when she got back to France. But she knew one thing - Raoul didn’t own her. She was married to Erik, and she loved him, she knew that, too. Whatever would end up happening between herself and her husband whom she loved, would happen, and that was only between her and husband - her _current_ husband. 

She put the letter into an envelope and sealed it, adjusted her ring, and straightened her hair. 

In five minutes time she was greeting Erik in the hallway, closing her door and smiling at him. She was wearing lipstick, and she was ready for brunch.


	17. Chapter 17

An hour delay. It could have been worse. Christine glanced out the big window at the planes coming and going, and she wondered at how often they had delays. Before Erik, she’d never traveled by air before, and while it was certainly convenient, it also seemed rife with issues. 

She dug in her purse for her lipstick to touch up what she’d put on earlier. 

She’d finally been able to say the words inside the privacy of her own mind, but she felt nowhere near ready to say them out loud yet. She glanced over at Erik by her side, who looked bored, and her heart swelled with tender emotion. 

“Let’s go look at the gift shops,” she suggested. “We have an hour, after all. That’s plenty of time.”

They passed by the liquor store, which Erik looked at wistfully while Christine firmly tugged his hand to keep walking past it. They stopped at the store that sold newspapers and snacks, buying a few things for on the plane. After that, they went in a little store that sold higher end gifts, jewelry and scarves and handbags. 

Christine was admiring a giant leather purse that cost far more than it should have when she heard Erik chuckle from around the corner. She turned to see what he was so amused by. 

“What is it?” she asked, coming over to the jewelry kiosk he was examining. 

He pointed out a little silver charm on a chain, and as Christine looked closer she could tell that it was of a scorpion. She blinked at it. 

“What’s funny? It’s probably one of those zodiac things.”

“A personal joke, perhaps,” he said with a wry smile. “That used to be my code name when I worked in Italy - _Lo Scorpione_ , the scorpion.”

“Oh? Why?”

“You see, I used to-“ he cut himself off with a nervous chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Ah haha- actually- you, ah- you probably don’t want to hear all that.”

She leveled a long look at him. 

“I thought you took care of Giovanni’s mail,” she said quietly. 

“I did,” he insisted, fiddling with the charm. “I _took care_ of a lot of things for Giovanni... But that’s what they used to call me. _Lo Scorpione_ only comes out at night, you see, a solitary creature, he bides his time during the day, watching and waiting. He’s not much to look at, but his sting-“

He chuckled again, a little ruefully this time, and a shiver went down her spine. She had considered it a possibility before, but it seemed her worst suspicion had been confirmed - her husband was an ex-assassin. 

She looked at him, studying him with her head tilted. 

He wouldn’t meet her eye again, as though a hint of shame had crept through from revealing his old memories. 

“But some scorpions are quite docile, too,” he added softly. “They only sting in self defense, most of the time.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly, stepping away from her. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, it’s alright-“

She reached out and grabbed his arm, squeezing it. She knew learning that he’d killed a man - or men, apparently - should change how she felt about him, but it didn’t. He was still her Erik. Sweet, charming, kind Erik... At least he was to her. 

She turned to the shop attendant. 

“What length chains do you offer?” she asked. 

Erik inched closer, slightly disbelieving. 

“You’re going to buy it?”

She ducked her head, blushing a little. 

“ _You’re_ going to buy it for me,” she said, smiling shyly. 

He chuckled sheepishly. 

She picked the chain she wanted, and the charms in the shape of initials caught her eye. 

“This one too, please,” she told the attendant, handing her a silver _E_. 

Erik paid and when they were out of the store, Christine handed him the little box that contained the necklace, then turned her back to him, pulling her hair up. 

Erik stood still for a moment, confused, then realized she wanted him to put the necklace on her. He dug the chain and charms out of the box and placed it around her neck with trembling hands. Once it was clasped she let her hair drop and turned to beam at him. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

“You don’t mind?” he asked, studying her intently.

“I think- I think scorpions are just misunderstood animals,” she offered softly. “They just want to live their life peacefully but someone’s bumbling hand always comes along and disturbs them, it’s not wonder that they sting, sometimes. And I don’t mind being the wife of _Lo Scorpione_.”

As they browsed in the few other shops and strolled the airport, Christine couldn’t help but notice how Erik’s eyes continually fell to the two charms on her necklace - the small scorpion and the slightly larger _E_ \- that rested just above her cleavage. 

At last their plane arrived, and they boarded it. Christine sighed a little as she buckled her seat belt, and, without waiting for him to offer her his hand, she took his arm and placed it around her shoulders, leaning against him as much as she could. He seemed surprised at first, but swiftly settled into the position. They stayed like that long after takeoff. 

“Christine,” he asked after some time had elapsed, a little curious, a little shy. “What does the _E_ stand for?”

She thought he was joking at first and she nearly laughed, but then she looked up at him and realized her was serious. He looked guarded, but hopeful. 

“For _Erik_ ,” she told him, trying to keep the hint of disbelief from her voice. 

“Oh,” he breathed, and glanced away, smiling. 

She stared at him a moment longer. He was genius, but sometimes she wondered. 

Still, he probably hadn’t wanted to assume, in case he was wrong. He wasn’t exactly used to people liking him or feeling affection towards him. That thought made her ache a little. 

Her hand drifted up to play absentmindedly with the silver charms. Her husband, the scorpion. Her husband, the assassin, or so it seemed. It was off-putting but not exactly a new concept - she’d considered it a number of times before. Besides that, it seemed so long ago - a literal lifetime, in her case. Giovanni had disowned him when she was just a baby. It almost didn’t seem real, when she thought about it like that. And he seemingly hadn’t done anything terrible since - he only wanted a normal life, or so he’d told her. A normal life certainly didn’t include things one could go to prison for. She pressed her palm over the charms. Maybe it was the wrong decision, but she wasn’t going to fret over what he’d done all those years ago. She knew who he was to her, and in that moment, the rest didn’t matter. 

Reykjavik was... different than she was expecting. It was small and cold and decidedly unglamorous. Perhaps it had a certain appeal, but it was lost on her. Erik, however, seemed beyond excited, regardless of the simplicity of their surroundings. 

“The northern lights, Christine!” he rubbed his hands together and gave her a giddy smile. “Just picture it!”

She smiled for him, but wasn’t completely convinced. Still, Erik was happy, and that made her happy. 

Until he wasn’t, and then it didn’t. 

The hotel booked was small and old and their rooms were across from each other. She didn’t unpack here, worried about stray insects that might crawl into her belongings, but she made no mention of it to Erik. Her suitcases were kept closed the entire time. After placing them in her room, she freshened up in the old, stained sink before changing her clothing. 

Their newfound climate combined with her newfound feelings created an unusual dilemma - namely, all her cold weather clothing didn’t exactly show off her shape. 

It wasn’t something she’d ever planned on, but realizing that Erik was wild about her figure had been terribly flattering, and if he wanted to look, then by all means - let him look. But how could he see anything underneath all these sweaters and coats? She huffed about it. 

At last she chose a pink sweater and a skirt that went to her knees. She studied herself in the mirror a moment before pulling out her red scarf, wrapping it around her waist like a belt. If it made the sweater look tighter, well - how could she be blamed for that? That’s just fashion. 

She met Erik out in the hall, where he looked at her dubiously. 

“Christine,” he warned. “It’s cold out. You should take a coat.”

She wrinkled her nose. 

“I’m not cold!”

“You will be,” he said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Erik, I’m fine,” she pleaded, and he relented. 

It was late afternoon already, so the day was short - they visited the site where they’d be viewing the lights, and did what minimal sightseeing there was to do. Reykjavik was a land of natural beauty but the city itself was nowhere near as expansive as the others they’d visited. 

There was a restaurant very close to the hotel, so they stopped there for an early dinner. 

“I hope the clouds clear up by tonight,” Erik mused as they looked at the menus once inside the restaurant. 

The sky was currently a dull grey, covered with clouds and giving the impression of being inside a dome. 

The bartender heard their conversation and, after he took their order, commented on it. 

“I wouldn’t count on those clouds clearing anytime soon,” he said. “But there’s likely a snowstorm on its way.”

“Oh,” Christine raised her eyebrows. 

Maybe she should have brought a coat after all. 

“We’re here to see the northern lights,” Erik explained with a smile. “What time would be best to see them?”

The bartender looked at them dubiously. 

“Ah... You’ve come at the wrong time, I’m afraid. Wrong season or something. They’re very weak this time of year. You should come back next year, it’ll be much better then.”

Erik’s smile turned stiff, a mask over his real emotions. The bartender took no notice, and left to put their order in. 

“Erik,” Christine whispered, and reached a comforting hand out to place overtop his. “I’m sure they’ll still be lovely. We’ll still see them.”

He gave a halfhearted shrug. 

When the bartender returned with their food, Christine pressed the issue. 

“But surely you can still _see_ them this time of year? They’re still there, aren’t they?”

“Oh, yes. You can see them. Weaker, maybe. But honestly I’d be more concerned about the storm... Won’t see much of anything if it doesn’t clear up.”

Sure enough, it was still cloudy after the sun went down. They stood on the sidewalk and stared up at the sky as a handful of snowflakes stared to fall. 

Christine wrapped her arms around herself and frowned. 

Erik noticed immediately. 

“You’re cold,” he stated, and pulled his jacket off, wrapping it around her. 

She looked up at him, shocked. 

“Erik, no- I’m fine! Take your coat back, please-“

He settled it around her, adjusting it just so. 

She blinked back her tears. 

“But you’ll be cold,” she whispered. 

He gave her a wry smile but said nothing. She glanced away, trying to wrap her head around how much he loved her when for so long she’d only shown him basic decency. 

“Come on,” he said, taking her hand in his and starting to walk towards the hotel. 

“Wait,” she said, pulling her red scarf from around her waist. “Take this at least-“

To his surprise, she wrapped the scarf around his neck. 

“There,” she said, giving a decisive nod and taking his hand again. 

They walked back to their hotel like that, hand in hand, her wearing his coat and him wearing her red scarf. His coat on her was ridiculously oversized, reaching down to her knees and enveloping her in a surprising amount of warmth - Erik always felt vaguely cold, but the coat was warm around her, the lingering remnant of his body heat. She ducked her head, hoping desperately that he wasn’t feeling too cold. She’d remember to take her own coat from now on, aesthetics be damned. 

He gave one last forlorn glance to the sky before they went in the building, and she squeezed his hand. 

“We have two weeks,” she said gently. “I’m sure it’ll clear up.”

But it didn’t clear up the next day, or the next, or the day after that. 

It snowed the entire first week, sometimes to the point that they had to stay in the hotel and not go out. There were a few sights to see around the area, and they were lovely, and the snow was lovely too... But none of them were what Erik had wanted to see. 

His attempt at staying upbeat was swiftly faltering. Christine tried her best to keep him distracted, lest he fall into utter despair. 

The restaurant bar seemed to be his favorite location - he had declared, a few days into the trip, that it was the only place worth eating at. It luckily had a decent amount of selection, so Christine didn’t mind too much. 

On Saturday nights some of the tables were moved back to provide a dance floor. Christine sat facing the dance floor as Erik faced the bar. A few couples were currently dancing with various levels of skill and drunkenness. 

“Have you ever danced, Erik?” she asked presently. 

He shrugged in reply. 

“I like to dance,” she added shyly, hoping he would take the hint. 

He was silent. 

“Raoul used to take me dancing,” she added, hoping to appeal to his possessiveness and get him to dance with her, but it backfired. 

“Then what a shame that Raoul isn’t here right now,” he grumbled as he downed the rest of the liquid in his shot glass. 

She flinched and looked away. 

It took him a moment to pull out of his self pity long enough to realize her actual intentions. He turned to her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

“Do you want to dance?” he murmured awkwardly, half afraid to ask. 

Her face lit up. 

“I do!”

She practically pulled him to the dance floor, beaming up at him. 

He surprised her by how comfortable he seemed. Maybe he had danced before, maybe he’d just spent a lot of time watching others dance and wishing he could, but either way, he pulled her close and placed one hand on her waist, the other hand holding hers. She placed her free hand on his shoulder, her heart fluttering just a little. 

The dark bar in the middle of nowhere was far from a magical location and with his face he could never pass for a handsome prince, but she’d never felt quite so certain that she was in a fairytale moment as she did just then. Dancing with Raoul had been enjoyable, but it had never felt like this. 

The music changed, and an older song from The Beatles began to play. 

_I should have known better with a girl like you  
That I would love everything that you do  
And I do, hey, hey, hey, and I do_

She looked away from his intense gaze, blushing. 

_Whoa, oh, I never realized what a kiss could be  
This could only happen to me  
Can't you see, can't you see_

She wished one of them would work up the courage to kiss the other. Her eyes darted to his face and away again. 

_That when I tell you that I love you, oh  
You're gonna say you love me, too, oh  
And when I ask you to be mine  
You're gonna say you love me, too_

She squeezed her hand a little tighter around his. She hadn’t told him yet. She should. What was she waiting for? It wasn’t going to get any less true the longer she waited. 

_So oh, I should realized a lot of things before  
If this is love you've got to give me more  
Give me more, hey hey hey, give me more_

She refrained from biting her lip only out of concern for smudging her lipstick. She wished she’d realized sooner, wished she hadn’t bottled her heart away and saved it for a special occasion. Erik was her special occasion, and one day the clock was going to strike midnight and the party would be over. 

She was lost in her own mind for a while as Erik swayed her this way and that. When she looked up at him again, he seemed to be enjoying himself, smiling at her. She smiled sheepishly back at him. They were dancing awfully closely. The final words of the song echoed through the bar and through her head- 

_You love me, too, you love me, too, you love me, too..._

“Erik,” she whispered. 

She should tell him. 

But she couldn’t. 

She rested her head on his chest, moving her arms up to go around his neck, scooting even closer to him. He responded in like kind, pulling her close in an almost-hug, still swaying slightly to the fading music. 

She couldn’t tell him. 

“Thank you for dancing with me,” she whispered instead, ashamed of her own cowardice. 

If she told him, what did that mean for her future? For her and Raoul? For her own self, right now? 

What kind of shitty deal was it to find your soulmate and only have him for a handful of weeks, a couple months? Was she supposed to go sixty more years without ever feeling that feeling again? How could she admit to the situation she found herself in? 

The music changed, Sinatra this time. 

_And if we go someplace to dance,  
I know that there's a chance  
You won't be leaving with me  
And afterwards we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two  
And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like "I love you"_

She winced at the song, convinced the universe was mocking her. Of all the songs to play... 

She chanced a glance up at Erik. He was looking at her wistfully. 

_And though it's just a line to you, for me it's true_

She’d have to admit to it one day, or it would eat her up inside. She could admit to it here and now and _make_ something of the little time they had remaining, or she could admit to it tearfully and regretfully over his casket at the funeral, or twenty years down the road when she was tired and jaded and bitter to realize that the best time of her life had slipped through her fingers and she’d just let it go with putting up a fight. 

They slowed danced to the rest of song, paid their bill, then went back to the hotel. He went to his own room without even a “goodnight”. 

She lay awake a long time that night, staring at the peeling ceiling. She missed Erik, missed the easy intimacy of having him only a wall or an open door away. He was only right across from her, but it seemed so far. If she missed him this much now, how badly was it going to hurt when she could no longer cross the hall and see him? A lump formed in her throat, and for a second she nearly regretted her love for him. 

But this hadn’t been her choice. If it had been up to her, she would have remained friends with Erik and enjoyed then mourned him as a friend, then married Raoul after that. If it had been up to her, she would have felt all the things she was supposed to feel for Raoul. If she could have just felt that way for him, it would have been easier, she supposed. Even if she felt it for Erik, too - if she could only feel that same attraction to Raoul, it would be so much easier. But she didn’t. And no amount of wishing she did would change that. 

She called Raoul the next day. They chatted for a few minutes on her travels, the weather, the food, and she thought it was going well - then he brought Erik up. 

“Say Lotte, how much money does he have again?”

She twisted the phone cord around her finger, frowning. 

“I don’t know an exact number... Does it matter?”

“Well, I was thinking maybe we could help Philippe out, ya know - after.”

She blinked. 

“Ah. I don’t- I’m not sure, Raoul...”

She didn’t want to help Philippe out. In theory it sounded nice, but Philippe was often dismissive of her and not very kind, not to mention that he frequently gambled even still. She knew any money they’d give to him would only be spent on cards and the lottery, because Philippe was not interested in anything else. 

“You’ll have time to think about it,” he said cheerily. 

She didn’t want to sink her money into trying to save a man who didn’t want to be saved, but she also was acutely aware that once she was married to Raoul, it would no longer be her choice - it would be _his_ money, not hers, and he could legally do anything he wanted with it. 

“I guess so,” she said dully. 

“Is he very sick, now?”

She rubbed at her eyes. 

“Why are you asking that?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it-“

“He’s a person, Raoul, a flesh and blood human. He’s not just some bank account with a clock counting down to when you can cash in.”

“Geeze, Lotte, I was just asking-“

“Do you really want to know? Do you really care about how he’s doing, beyond how it affects you?”

“I’m sorry, Christine. I’ve never met the man. Excuse me for not taking a compassionate interest in the guy who married my fiancée.”

“Do you want him to be sick? You want him to hurry up and die?”

Silence on the other end. 

“Did you ever think about how that affects me?” she continued, her voice growing thick. “About what it’s like for me to watch him suffer? Every single day? Knowing he’s in pain and there’s nothing I can do? Knowing you’re sitting back with a bottle of champagne for when I make the worst call of my life to you?”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

“I have to go,” she said, a tremble in her voice, and she hung up before he could say anything else. 

They stood out in the cold that night, staring at the sky filled with clouds, at the oppressive darkness surrounding them, praying for a bit of light to shine through, but it never did. At last he gave up and they went back in to the hotel. His mood was so low, and she wished she could do something to cheer him. He’d been so preoccupied with his own dark thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed she’d left the top four buttons of blouse undone. 

It was snowing again the next day. They went for a brief walk, but Erik was mostly silent during it despite her attempts to engage him in conversation. When they sat at the bar that evening, he ordered a shot of rum. 

Christine sat quietly as he drank it, feeling uncomfortable. They both knew he shouldn’t have it, but she couldn’t bring herself to scold him. She didn’t say anything, either, when he ordered a basket of cheese covered fries - perhaps the saltiest thing on the menu. She blinked against the sting in her eyes as he added more salt on top. 

“Erik,” she sighed softly, but the glance he gave her warned against any further protest. 

She picked at her own fried fish, peeling off the excess batter and dipping the good parts into the little cup of tartar sauce. Erik ordered a second drink, and she side-eyed him. 

He downed it quickly, taking a bite of fries afterwards. He was about to raise his hand to order a third when Christine reached out and grabbed his hand instead, squeezing it gently as she lowered it. 

“Two drinks,” she whispered, not looking at him. “Just two.”

He seemed to relent slightly. 

“How’s your fish?” he asked. 

“It’s very... breaded. It’s good, though.”

“I wonder if the storm has let up yet,” he mused, looking pensive. 

“It would be nice if it did. One clear night, at least. It might happen.”

“Would, ah, would you go out and check real quick? Just to see what the weather seems to be.”

“Sure.”

She got down off the barstool and made her way to the front of the restaurant and out to the sidewalk. Once outside, she was disheartened to see snowflakes still falling. She nearly turned to go back inside when she heard voices just around the side of the restaurant. 

“You see that weirdo with the mask?” a man’s voice asked. 

“Yeah, what the hell, man?” another man chuckled. 

Christine froze, a cold feeling going through her. 

“He comes to my restaurant almost every morning for breakfast. Gives me the creeps. I’m glad he doesn’t come back for dinner or anything, though - let him scare away customers in some other joint!”

The two man laughed, and Christine clutched her hands into fists. 

“Why d’you think he wears that thing, anyway?” the second man asked. 

“I dunno.”

“Maybe he’s a wanted criminal.”

“Maybe he’s just really ugly.”

More laughter, but Christine didn’t think it was funny. 

“I wish I could see what’s under there,” mused the second man. 

“Nah, why would you want to? It’s probably disgusting. Probably looks like a monster. You’d be scarred for life,” he chuckled. “Man, I tell you - people like that shouldn’t be allowed out with the rest of us.”

The second man was quiet, as though he were uncomfortable with what had just been said, but that didn’t stop the first man from pressing on with his opinions. 

“If he’s that fucked up under there, he oughta just be put down. Put him out of his misery - for his sake and for ours, so we don’t have to look at him!”

Christine marched around the corner, fuming at what she’d just heard. She recognized the first man as one of the waiters who’d often served them breakfast at the local cafe. He was leaning against the side of the restaurant and smoking a cigarette, but she only had the briefest of seconds to take all this in, because as soon as she was close enough, she wound her hand back and slapped him hard across his face. 

The force of the impact turned his head to the side, and his cigarette flew out of his mouth. 

His companion stared, dumbstruck and slack jawed. 

“You’re the monster,” she bit out, ignoring the tears welling in her eyes. “How can you say such horrible things about a human being? He’s a good, kind man, which is more than anyone can say about you!”

“Hey-!” 

She raised a finger at him. 

“Don’t you _ever_ talk about my husband or anyone else that way again, do you hear me?” she snarled. “ _Ever!_ ”

She slapped him one last time, and he flinched hard and made a pained noise, the second blow landing across where she’d placed the first. He’d likely have a bruise the next day. 

She glowered at him then turned on her heel and stalked off. 

“Don’t just stand there, call the cops!” the man shouted at his friend, but his friend just shrugged and puffed contemplatively on his own cigarette. 

“Talk shit, get hit,” was all he said, looking away to the distance as though he’d just revealed some great nugget of wisdom. 

The other man huffed and rubbed his face. 

Eventually he reached his out to his companion. 

“Gimme another cigarette, then.”

Christine felt like she was thrumming with anger, even after slapping him twice. Her hand stung in a satisfying way, and she pushed on the door to the restaurant a little harder than she needed to, just to amplify that pain and revel in it. 

She thought of all those places where she couldn’t understand to local language, and wondered how many people had whispered such things without her even knowing. Erik surely knew, though. How many times had he had to shrug off cruel and painful comments like that during his entire life? 

When she got closer to the back of the restaurant and drew near to the bar, her heart sank. There were four empty shot glasses next to Erik, and he was in the process of throwing back another. 

He glanced back when he heard her approaching, and tried to push the empty glasses away, as though if they weren’t right in front of him she wouldn’t realize they were his. 

She sat on her barstool next to him, looking at the little glasses with dismay. 

“Erik-“

Was this why he’d asked her to step outside? So she wouldn’t stop him? 

He picked up his glass of water and drank the last of it, flagging down the bartender for more. After it was filled, he drank half of it in one go. 

“Erik, _stop_ ,” she pleaded, thinking of the man’s words outside. 

“It’s just water, Christine, don’t worry,” he muttered with dismissive wave of the hand. 

“No-“ she took his hand and spread it out in hers. “That glass is sixteen ounces, and you’ve already had three of them tonight. Including the rest of the water I saw you drink earlier - Erik, you’ve had too much liquid. It’s going to make your hands swell. Your body can’t process that much with your condition. You know that.”

His hand was already slightly swollen, and she knew it wasn’t just his hands, either. It was painful for him, and he likely hurt all over from it. 

“Didn’t realize you were counting,” he slurred just slightly around the edges of his words, barely noticeable, as he pulled his hand back from hers. 

“It’s my job,” she blinked back the tears. 

“Not for long, though,” he said under his breath and took another drink of water. 

“Erik-“ her voice broke pathetically. 

“Dammit woman!” he banged his fist down on the bar, making her jump. “Will you stop with your phony fretting over me already? My mouth is dry, just let me drink my fucking water! What the fuck do you care?”

“You’re drunk,” she tried to state, her voice wavering and small. “And I _do_ care.”

The truth of it did nothing to ease the sharp pain of his barb, though. 

He drank the rest of his water and winced. He fished in his pocket for cash, slapped it down on the bar, then turned and headed towards the door without another word. 

She stared after him helplessly, then followed. 

He was already heading for the hotel without even stopping to wait for her. She tried her best to catch up but her legs were too short compared to his, and with his head start she couldn’t bridge the distance. She settled for walking a few paces behind him. He didn’t even stop to see if she was there. 

All at once it was too much for her. She was all alone in the world with a husband who seemingly no longer cared if he lived or died, and everyone around them hated him or was waiting for him to die. The truth of it settled on her like the thick blankets of snow had settled on the sidewalk that she had to trudge through - Erik had a reckless, careless, stubborn streak, and if he turned self-destructive there was no way she could stop him, only stand helplessly by as she watched him. All of the sweetness and love he had shown her in the past only amplified the exquisite hurt caused by the words he said in his fits of cruelty. His disregard for his own well-being combined with the echoes of what she’d heard outside and it was all simply too much for her. 

She stopped in her tracks and covered her face with her hands, crying quietly. 

Either he heard her footfalls cease or a little choked sob carried across to him despite the wind, or perhaps both, because he stopped and turned to look at her. 

They stood there a minute, her crying into her hands, and him watching her, before he broke the stillness and strode over to her. 

“Don’t,” he whispered wearily, pulling her hands away from her face. “Your tears are going to freeze on your face.”

He cradled her head in hands and brushed his thumbs over her cheeks until he wiped away as much much of the wetness as he could. He lingered there just a moment, looking into her eyes with all the sadness in the world, then gently, carefully, rested his masked forehead on hers, and closed his eyes. 

After that he pulled her close to him, hugging her as she sobbed against the front of his coat. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “I won’t do it again.”

She clung to him, reluctant to let go, even after how he’d hurt her. If he gave up now- if he stopped listening to her advice- she might only have him for a couple weeks more. If he was careful, he had about four months left. If he wasn’t- he’d be lucky with four weeks. 

He patted her back and petted her hair, and then he turned to start walking slowly back to the hotel, this time with her nestled under his arm. 

“I’m worried about you,” she said softly as they were about to part for the night. 

He reached out to brush a stray curl from her face. 

“I don’t think you should be alone tonight,” she added. 

A strange look passed across his face. 

“I’ve been alone my whole life, Christine,” was all he said, and he turned to his room without another word. 

His door closed and locked with a sense of finality, and she stood there staring at it for a long moment before went into her own room. 

She took a hot shower that night and cried her heart out as the water steamed and beat against her face and shoulders. What if he’d already had too much alcohol? What if he had a heart attack in the middle of the night? What if he blacked out and choked to death because there was no one there to roll him over? 

After the water had turned cold and her face turned numb, she got out of the shower and dressed for bed, but instead of going to her own bed she went and knocked on Erik’s door. 

“Erik?” she called, and rattled the doorknob. “Erik, let me in.”

There was no answer. She tried again. 

Silence. 

She bit her lip and returned to her own room, and she spent the night crying into her pillow. 

The next morning she’d finally run out of tears. She was relieved to find him exiting his room at the same time she was leaving hers. 

He looked remorseful, and tired. 

“Are you ready for breakfast?” he asked, his voice still a little rough. 

She looked down at the floor. 

“Can we go somewhere else for breakfast?”

“I thought you loved the pastries at the place we’ve been going...”

She shrugged a little, not wanting to tell him about the run in with the man from cafe. 

“We can find someplace new,” he agreed. 

They were mostly quiet until they had settled themselves in a new breakfast joint. 

Erik handed her his menu. 

“You order for me,” he said, not quite meeting her eye, and she knew this was his way of apologizing for the previous night. 

When the waitress came back, Christine ordered for both of them - eggs (unsalted) and pancakes with a side of fruit, and small glass of water. 

They were soon left in silence as she left to put the order in. 

Erik places his hands on the table and sighed quietly. 

“About last night...”

She didn’t say anything, didn’t look at him. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” she said gently. 

“It’s just- everything had been going so well, and now suddenly we have three days left here, and we didn’t even get to see what we came to see- and even if we had, it’s not the right season or whatever- it’s just... It just feels like the start of everything falling apart. And this is it - this is really it. It’s almost over. All of it. And I don’t know how to cope with that. When we were traveling I could keep it away from the front of my mind, but this- this just reminded me that, well, it’s almost over.”

She sniffed and nodded. 

“Last night... When you said- said that I didn’t care about you- Erik, that’s not true,” she looked up at him, pained. “I care about you very much, Erik. You’re terribly important to me- I- I-“

She didn’t get to finish her thought, because he shook his head. 

“No,” he said, cutting her off. “Christine, I appreciate it very much, and I know you hold some level of affection towards me, but _please_ , I am begging you, do not inflate the importance of those scant feelings because you think it’ll cheer me from my melancholy.”

She blinked. 

He thought she was lying for his benefit. She wanted to crumple up and cry again, right there in the pancake restaurant’s sticky booth. Even if she tried to tell him of her newfound love for him, he wouldn’t believe her. 

She picked up her fork and fiddled with it, not knowing what to say. 

“Regardless,” he sighed. “I know I shouldn’t have said that to you last night, because we are friends. You’ve known I have a temper for some time now, I believe, but I still shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

She nodded. 

“Thank you for looking out for me,” he softly, tilting his head. “Even when it’s annoying as fuck.”

She smiled a little, and so did he. 

“I know it sounds dumb, probably,” he added. “But this trip, here... It just feels like the culmination of my entire life. To get so close to something you’ve longed for, to finally be able to reach out and touch it - and it’s blocked from me. To come so far and get so close - and it’s still not good enough. It never was.”

She reached her hand out and took his in hers. 

“That’s not dumb,” she told him. 

He gave her a sad but appreciative smile. 

“I guess I’ve just got to used to the idea that this is all there is,” he said after their food was brought to them. “That this is the most I can hope for. Just like I’ve had to do my entire life.”

They finished their breakfast, they stared at the snow, they walked around town and felt vaguely miserable, they shared the solitude of each other, and when it was evening they ate in their bar. 

Erik avoided the saltier foods and refrained from alcohol, ordering a chamomile tea instead. 

“Christine,” he said presently. “You were born in Sweden, weren’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” she nodded and smiled. “Abisko, Sweden. It’s the tiniest little town, and we left when I was just a small girl.”

“Would you like to go see it?”

She blinked, surprised. 

“Maybe one day, yeah.”

“No, I mean - with me? Do you want to go there tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

Her brow crinkled. 

He looked away. 

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I understand if you’d rather not, with me.”

“No, no- Erik, I would love to share that trip with you! But what about here?”

“What about here?” he smiled wryly and leaned his elbow on the bar, propping his chin in his hand. “There’s nothing here.”

“We could really go tomorrow?” she breathed, placing her hand over her necklace with the two charms that she hadn’t taken off since Erik had put it on her. 

“Absolutely. Look, you show me where Abisko is on a map, wake up as early as you can tomorrow, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“You’d really do that for me?”

She thought of the trip to Sweden she had been supposed to take with Raoul and how it had been canceled. 

“Of course,” he shrugged. “I want to see the land where my wife was born.”

“I want you to see it, too,” she smiled shyly. 

They walked out into the snow again after their dinner was finished, and they exchanged glances after looking up at the still cloudy sky. They walked back to the hotel hand in hand. 

True to his word, Erik seemingly set everything up. They were off to the airport far before noon, and after the plane landed they headed for the train station. Abisko really was a very small village. 

Christine could scarcely believe her luck. She was so excited to see her homeland, even just for a day. She held tight to Erik’s arm and beamed. This trip was supposed to be for him, but he’d diverted that to do something for her. 

Unlike nearly every other destination, here she spoke the language fluently while Erik did not. She was in charge here, in her element, and Erik let her take over. What a treat it was to hear her native tongue being spoken to her! She was a little rusty from living in France so long, but she and her father had conversed mostly in Swedish, so she wasn’t as bad off as she could have been. 

Abisko was a charming village, though even smaller than Reykjavik. Erik seemed to enjoy it, though - or at least, he enjoyed that she enjoyed it. 

They visited the cabin she had lived in as a little girl, and some of her favorite locations that she could remember in fuzzy, hazy memories. 

They rented two rooms in the small little hotel, and then went to go get an early dinner. 

“Did you enjoy it?” he asked as they ate their traditional Swedish meals. 

“I did,” she smiled. “Erik, I’m so happy.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

How could she explain to him the sheer joy of seeing her homeland with her beloved husband? She couldn’t. He wouldn’t believe her. 

“You know,” she said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes and a red berry sauce. “I bet we can see the northern lights here.”

“Really?” he looked dubious. 

She nodded vigorously. 

“Didn’t you see how clear the sky was?”

He chewed thoughtfully and she chuckled a little. 

“Erik, I thought that was why you wanted to come to Sweden.”

“What? No, I wanted to come here for you,” he insisted. “I hadn’t considered-“

She smiled at him. 

“We can look tonight.”

She spoke to the waitress, an older woman, about it in Swedish. Erik glanced between the two of them. 

“She says you can see them from here,” she told Erik, leaning in excitedly after the woman left. “She says they look like magic!”

Erik smiled tentatively, as though he didn’t believe her. Perhaps he needed to be skeptical so as to avoid being bitterly disappointed again. Perhaps he was right about that, but Christine preferred to hope. 

After dinner they went back to the hotel and changed for the weather. This was their last chance to see the lights, and Christine was determined to stay out until they saw them, no matter how long it took. 

Bundled at last in their winter coats and gloves and hats and scarves, they made their way to the snow covered hills. 

They stood for a moment, then Christine sat down in the snow, staring firmly at the starry sky. Erik hesitated, then sat down beside her. His gaze was on her instead of the sky, and he was looking at her as though his heart ached with the love of her. 

A sparkle of pink flashed across the sky. 

She gasped, and Erik quickly looked up. 

His jaw dropped as the colors began to dance across the sky, sometimes flaring out in wide bursts, sometimes in sweeping waves, shifting and glimmering. 

Christine laughed out loud and flopped back on the snow, staring up with dazzled eyes. 

“We’re really here,” Erik said in hushed, awed voice. “It’s really real.”

He lay back on the snow, disbelieving. 

The lights shone and flashed and wavered, dark blue, light green, white, and pink. The noises they made caused Christine’s breath to catch in her throat - a chattering, howling whine that echoed off the mountains and reverberated back, a muffled crackling that made her body feel like it was full of electricity. She looked over at Erik with a huge grin on her face. She’d never seen his eyes so wide. 

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Isn’t it?” 

They both stared, awed, mesmerized. 

“The waitress said it looks like magic, but it looks like science, to me,” she whispered, feeling it was wrong to speak too loudly right now. “Like brainwaves, like something breathing. It’s amazing.”

“Maybe magic is just science we don’t understand yet,” Erik murmured. “It could be both.”

She nodded. 

“Both,” she agreed. “What’s it look like to you?”

He reached a hand up to trace the swirling colors. 

“Like music,” he said quietly. “Like joy. Emotions. It looks like what being in love feels like, what it must feel like to kiss someone you love.”

She considered his choice of words for a moment. 

“Have you never kissed anyone?” she asked, highly curious. 

Such a long life, and yet _never_? Surely he must have, at some point! Had he never been in love with anyone besides her and Luciana, then, not even just a little? That was sad also. 

He chuckled darkly, letting his hand fall back to earth. 

“Never,” he said. 

“Never?”

“You know the phrase, ‘a face only a mother could love’?” he asked bitterly. 

“Oh, Erik - I don’t think you have one of those.”

“You are correct, my dear - even she didn’t love me. You know, I asked, once, for a kiss from her. I was just a boy. It was so long ago, but I still remember how she _screamed_ at me. All I wanted was a kiss - a simple kiss on the forehead from my mother - but she said I didn’t deserve it.”

Silence hung between them, punctuated only by the noise from the lights. She could scarcely believe it. She knew it must have been difficult to raise a child like Erik, but how could any mother be so cruel? 

“I dare say I never asked again,” he mused. “I resigned myself to the idea of a life without kisses from anyone.”

She turned her head to look at him. 

“You have a wife now,” she ventured softly. “Why don’t you ask her?”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, smiling sadly. 

“Hearing my mother refuse affection crushed me as a child. But hearing you refuse me, or seeing the reluctance in your eyes as you accepted - _that_ would kill me, Christine.”

She looked back up at the sky, at the dancing colors, and let his words sink in. 

He’d never kissed anyone. And he’d never ask her, either. But not because he didn’t want to - because he was too afraid she’d turn him down. 

At last she propped herself up on an elbow and leaned over him, placing a hand on his chest. He gave her a confused look, but didn’t have time to ask what she was doing before she leaned down and pressed her lips to his. She lingered there in that kiss a long moment before she pulled back. 

He put his gloves fingers up to his lips as though he couldn’t believe that had just happened. He eyed her curiously, two warring emotions in his gaze - the urge to kiss her again, and fear that she’d slap him if he tried. 

She took a deep breath when she pulled away, as if what she’d just done had fully struck her. She lay back down on the snow, staring up again. 

“The lights are beautiful,” she murmured. 

He dragged his gaze away from her, looking up. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Very beautiful.”

A few more sparks and waves and shimmers, and then, as suddenly as they’d started, they went out again, leaving only the deep inky blue and smattering of white stars. 

They lay there a while longer, waiting to see if they would come back, but they didn’t. 

She sat up first, acutely aware of his unblinking gaze on her. 

“We should go in before we get frostbite,” she said, feeling silly. 

She stood awkwardly, and he scrambled up as well. 

His hand went to his mouth again, and she wondered with a wry smile if he could still feel her lips there. 

“After all that time - finally,” she said, her eyes carefully on the ground. “Was it worth it?”

“Oh yes,” he breathed, reaching a hand out to gently touch her back with the lightest of touches for just a moment. “Yes it was. It was very much worth it, Christine.”

From the sincerity and conviction in his voice, and from her blush stained face in the starlight, neither one was exactly certain which event they were talking about. 

They walked back the hotel, stunned and secretly giddy. They each said nothing more, and neither made to touch the other in any way. Erik kept a hand at his lips the entire time, nearly going crosseyed as he tried to look down at his mouth. 

He bid her goodnight in the hallway with a strange tone of voice and a tilt of his head, glancing at her with a curious and shy look. He quickly escaped into his room afterwards. 

She went straight to bed, but couldn’t fall asleep. A kiss had never electrified her like that before. It had been soft and gentle, almost chaste, but it had left her with a hunger for more. She touched her lips with her fingertips just like Erik had done. 

She had thought that it was a kiss for him, as all of her kisses with Raoul had been, but what surprised her was just how much she had wanted it too. And now, in the silence of her lonely room, she realized she wanted _more_. 

Did he want more, too?

The next morning neither one mentioned it, not on the train ride to the airport, not on the plane, not when they landed in Portugal. Things seemed the same as always, except now there was _something else_ between them, something they both were skirting around and refusing to acknowledge to the other. 

Sometimes he’d look at her with eyes that were a little too bright, or he’d suddenly jerk his hand away from a shy touch that he had initiated, or he’d smile just a little too widely. He seemed like he was trying to be extra polite to her. 

It was then that she fully realized that no matter how he ached and longed for such things from her, he would never, never even ask, not even after this. Her poor Erik. Did he really think she’d get angry at him, or send him away? It seemed it would be up to her to press ahead if she wanted more from him. 

But he was such an accommodating soul, and he seemed ready to give her anything she asked for. What if she pressed for more than he wanted to give? She had no doubt he’d put his own comfort aside for her, but she only wanted whatever he wanted. As embarrassing as it was, it seemed the only way forward to talk about it. 

The hotel in Lisbon was right on the beach. Knowing that this was his last destination and they would presumably be there longer, he had rented out a small penthouse at the top of the building that consisted of two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchenette, and a tiny living area. It also had a patio deck that overlooked the rocky cliffs that led down to the sea. Christine was immediately drawn to this, standing on it and looking out at the water. 

“Pick your bedroom, my dear,” Erik called out to her. 

She came back in and explored both rooms. They were both lovely, but one was directly attached to the patio, so that if the door was left open you could see and hear and smell the ocean. Sleeping in that room would feel like a dream. 

She picked the other room, the one next to the kitchenette. This seemed to surprise him, but he gladly moved into room facing the ocean. 

She desperately wanted to talk to him about the kiss, but she felt exhausted from the long trip, and she could tell he was too. It would have to wait. She unpacked as best she could, then grudgingly called a familiar number on the phone. 

“Hi Raoul,” she said when he answered. “We’re in Lisbon now. This’ll be my number for the rest of time, I think - I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“Okay. How was your flight? I miss you.”

She fiddled with her necklace, the thought of what it symbolized a guilty weight in the back of her mind. 

“It was okay. My legs hurt, though. I was sitting for too long. I’ll have to take some walks tomorrow to work that out.”

“Aw, that’s too bad. Is the beach very pretty?”

She blinked hard, furrowing her brow. He seemed so sweet, and caring. She answered his questions, and he seemed genuinely interested. He didn’t bring up Erik - or his money - one time. It seemed he’d learned from his mistakes. That only made it all the more frustrating to her, somehow. 

“You sound tired,” he said kindly. “I shouldn’t have kept you so long. Get some rest, okay, Lotte? I love you.”

“Goodbye, Raoul,” she squeezed the receiver in her hand, then added softly- “I love you, too.”

It was not a lie. 

She hung up, and got ready for bed. The penthouse seemed like a palace after the Iceland hotel, and the bed was soft and comforting, even when her mind wasn’t. 

The next morning they went to a grocery store for a few items for the fridge. Snacks and drinks, and Christine replenished her stock of Tylenol and other simple medicines. 

She asked him if he wanted to go for a walk with her on the beach after the shopping trip, but he turned her down even though it disappointed him, because he was still fatigued from the trip. She made sure he was adequately settled on the couch with his feet propped up and the tv on before she set out to walk by herself. 

The beach really was beautiful, and there were only a few handfuls of people here and there down the shoreline. 

As she walked, she hoped for some sort of clarity, some sort of absolution. She loved Raoul. She loved Erik. They both loved her. Trying to work it out in her mind felt trying to make a square peg fit in a round hole. 

She paused and watched the waves beat against the shore, ceaseless and timeless. She wrapped her arms around herself. Erik was who she was married to, who she was with now. She couldn’t live in some “what-if” future world with far off scenarios and suppositions about what might happen one day. All she had was right here, right now. That would have to be enough. 

She might marry Raoul one day - she might not. He might be mad if she took things farther with Erik, or he might not - especially if she didn’t marry Raoul. 

She closed her eyes and let her world boil down to the darkness of her mind and the sound of the waves and feel of the salt spray tickling her skin. 

She didn’t know what would happen with Raoul. All she knew for certain was that if she didn’t at least _ask_ Erik, she would regret not knowing for the rest of her life. 

She turned and made her way back to the penthouse. 

She was the mistress of her own destiny, and she would not be shamed by the ghost of what she though someone else might say or think about her actions. 

As she drew closer, she noticed Erik was standing on the balcony, watching her. He waved when he realized she could see him. 

She laughed and waved back. How she loved this man, _her_ man. 

“Is everything okay?” she asked once she got back to penthouse, Erik coming in from the balcony to meet her. 

“I missed you,” he said sheepishly. “I should have gone with you.”

“Oh, honey-“ the word fell from her lips without even noticing. “We’ll go on plenty of walks together, it’s okay. I won’t leave you again,” she teased him, and he smiled. 

They ventured out for early dinner at a fancy restaurant, and to her great joy he ended up flirting lightly with her. The evening was spent with soft giggles, warm blushes, shy smiles, and the most delicious food she’d ever tried. 

On the taxi ride back to the hotel, however, he kept his distance, legs crossed and his hands on his knee, as though he didn’t want to intrude on her space at all. She glanced at him curiously. Were his little jokes over dinner as far as he was going to take it? She wouldn’t mind if he pulled her onto his lap and held her, or if he pushed his luck and tried to kiss her. He was holding back. She had to know why. 

“I’m going to sit on the balcony a little while, I think,” he said as they entered the penthouse. “Would you like to sit with me?”

He asked it in a nonchalant tone, but she could tell he was hiding his fervent hope that she’d agree. 

“Of course!”

She got them two glass wine goblets from the little cupboard and a bottle of sparkling water and followed Erik out to the patio. There was a table between two nice chairs and she down opposite him, pouring them both a drink. 

They engaged in small talk for a while, saying nothing of consequence as they sipped their drinks and watched the stars reflect off of the shimmering water, before they lapsed into silence. 

She squirmed in her chair. She knew she should bring it up, but now that the moment had arrived, she felt awkward about it. But it was the only way to know. 

“Erik... Do you like me?”

The words hung in the air and he furrowed his brow. 

“Christine,” he sounded put out, almost at a loss for words. “Is this because I called you annoying?”

She huffed a laugh. 

“No! No, not like that...”

“Of course I like you, my dear, I would have thought that was obvious-“

“I know you like me,” she insisted. 

“Then why ask?”

“That’s not what I mean!” she groaned and covered her face with her hands. 

“I like you,” he said firmly. 

They were quite for a little while, and she gathered her courage to ask again, in a different way. 

“Erik,” she asked softly, not meeting his eye. “Are you attracted to me?”

“What do you mean?” 

He sipped at his sparkling water, not looking at her either. He knew what she meant. 

“I mean... Do you wish we could- consummate our marriage?”

“I’d never ask that of you, Christine,” he replied quickly, looking at her now. “We made a deal, and I intend to stick to it.”

She shook her head, frowning. 

“No, I know. But I’m asking... If we didn’t have that deal, if we had met in other circumstances-“ she hesitated. “Am I desirable to you? Do you- _desire_ me?”

Erik set his glass down, hoping that in the dim light she couldn’t see the blush creeping over his face. 

“You are... a very attractive woman, Christine,” he said steadily. 

“Thank you,” she said automatically, her own cheeks turning pink. “But... What am I to you? I know I’m here to keep you company, and to keep an eye on your health, but... I’m your wife, too. You could have paid me to just be your nurse as you traveled. But you wanted to marry me instead.”

She stood and walked to the edge of the balcony, her heart racing as she braced herself for her next question. 

“Are you _sexually_ attracted to me?” 

It was awkward and it felt clinical and she was half afraid to find out the answer, but she had to know. 

Erik was quiet a long moment. 

“Do you want me to lie?” he asked quietly. “Do you want the answer that makes you feel safe in my presence?”

“I want the truth, Erik,” she sighed. 

He came and stood behind her, placing his hands on her upper arms and softly squeezing. 

“You won’t like the truth,” he murmured. 

“I want it anyway.”

He inhaled sharply. 

“I have been attracted to you from the first moment I saw you. The very thought of you consumes me, it’s like a fire raging in my mind. The only thing that keeps me a gentleman around you is knowing the absolute pain I would feel at betraying your precious trust and hurting you. I have never been so attracted to anyone in my life. If I could, I would lift you up and take you right here, Christine Daaé, right against the balustrade.”

“What’s a balustrade?” she asked breathlessly. 

His lips quirked up at the corners, trying not to laugh. 

“It’s the railing on the balcony,” he explained, his warm breath tickling her neck. 

“Oh,” she breathed. “Do it, then. Take me.”

She braced herself to be lifted. 

“I can’t,” he said sadly, shaking his head a little. 

“Why not?” she turned to look at him with wide eyes. 

He paused a moment, studying her. 

“Because I have a bad back.”

She burst out laughing, and he smiled. She shook her head at him mirthfully, covering her mouth with her hands. 

She reached up and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him down closer to her as she stood on her tiptoes. She met his mouth with hers, kissing him softly. 

He pulled back slightly, shocked, but when she leaned up to him again, he met her just as eagerly. He placed one hand on the back of her head, cradling it, and the other on the small of her back, pulling her close until she was tightly pressed against him. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting him make her back arch as he leaned forward. She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips even as he kissed her - or rather, as he gave her his own approximation of a kiss. 

He really hadn’t kissed anyone before, but what he lacked in experience he made up for with sheer enthusiasm. 

If Raoul had tried to lick at her like this, she probably would have slapped him away, but when Erik did it, it held a certain amount of endearing charm. 

Oh, how she loved this man. 

When at last he broke away to catch his breath, she was beaming. His eyes were wide with surprise and they shone with a mix of love and lust and fear. 

“I’m sor-“

“ _Shhh_ ,” she cut off his apology, pressing a finger to his lips. “It’s okay.”

Then, she reached out and took his hands, tugging him towards her as she led him inside. A look of confusion and uncertainty flashed across his face when he realized that she was taking him to the bedroom, his bedroom - his bed. 

“Christine,” he whispered thickly. “Are you- are you sure?” 

She said nothing, only leaned up and kissed him gently on the lips before guiding him to lay back on the bed, then joined him on the mattress, straddling his hips. 

“I’m sure,” she whispered as she leaned down to remove his mask and kiss him once more. “I’m sure.”


	18. Chapter 18

She pulled the blanket her to her chin, staring up at the ceiling. The moment of awkward passion had long since passed, and now her bare skin felt chilly in the night air. She glanced over at Erik, who had been asleep a little while now. Sleep wouldn’t come so easy for her. She pressed a kiss to his collarbone. He slept on, completely unaware, but she didn’t mind. It hadn’t been a kiss for him, anyway. 

He was her husband, so why did she feel like she was cheating on Raoul? And as much as she felt she’d cheated on him, why was she already planning on doing it again?

She slid out of bed, cringing a little as she stood up. She awkwardly made her way to the bathroom to freshen up. The splash of the water in the sink was mostly covered by the sound of the waves outside, and when she came to stand in the doorway of the dark bathroom to look in on Erik, damp washcloth in hand, he was still sleeping. She told herself that what she was seeking was the moonlight for illumination as she wiped the cold cloth over her inner thighs, but she knew that the real reason was that she didn’t want to take her eyes off of him. His thin chest rose and fell steadily, his awful face finally peaceful in slumber. His hair swooped down over his forehead, and the sight of it - and the memory of running her hands through it not that long ago - made her smile softly. 

She threw the used washcloth into the tub, suddenly and immensely grateful for the little round ivory colored compact she kept in her handbag - and for her foresight in dutifully taking a pill from it each day. Her mind was a mess of emotions right now, and the very last thing she needed was the thought of getting pregnant by Erik and then having to raise the child with Raoul. 

She found her dressing gown and pulled it around her, walking out to the balcony to try to gain some perspective. She didn’t regret what she and Erik had done, but she could also scarcely believe she’d done it. All of that time around Raoul, all of that time stiffly enduring his gentle affections, and then- 

Erik. 

She’d never known it could feel that way, never fully realized that a woman could feel that for a man in the same way that a man felt for a woman, that she could _need_ and _want_ just like he could. 

She felt guilty. She didn’t think what she’d done was wrong, but she felt guilty all the same. Why couldn’t she have felt that for Raoul? How much easier would that have made things for them? Why did she have to feel that for Erik? Erik, a man whose life was out of synch with her own - she’d appeared too late, or he’d arrived too early, two trains who had pulled up to the station at the same time from opposite directions but only had a brief moment together on the platform, just long enough to wave at each other before they were ripped apart by forces stronger than themselves, never to meet again. 

“Fuck,” she whispered on an exhale. 

Erik was her soulmate, she was absolutely certain of this now - had been certain of this before they’d even set foot in Portugal. Raoul could be one, too, of a slightly different sort, perhaps. But Erik - he felt like the very beat of her heart. It was mind boggling to think of every little step that had led up to them meeting, of what might have happened if just one of those steps had gone awry - would they still have met? Would she be back in Rouen right now, leaning back on a couch while Raoul slobbered all over her and she politely tolerated his touches? What if she’d taken off from work that day? What if Erik had gone down a different street where no one had found him? What if everyone had just passed him by as he lay facedown in the road, and he’d never come to hospital? What if Cecile Jammes wasn’t a crybaby? What if Erik had been a gentleman and she’d never have needed to come see him? 

She closed her eyes, overwhelmed at it all. From behind her, she heard Erik stirring, and she wondered if he had sensed the lack of her presence. She could feel his stare boring into her, but she didn’t turn around. He got up after a moment, heading to the bathroom just like she had. He stepped out a moment later, dressed in his robe, mask firmly in place, and cautiously came to stand next to her on the balcony. 

“Christine?” he asked gently, placing a hand on her back, his touch feather-light. “Do you feel all right?”

She glanced up at him as he stood there next to her, concern written plainly in his gaze. She tried to answer him but her words were choked off by some tender emotion she didn’t want to name. She nodded her head. 

“Are you okay with what happened?” he asked softly. 

She nodded again, little more forcefully, but couldn’t quite meet his eye. He breathed a sigh of relief, looking out to the water. 

“I don’t have the words to thank you enough for what you did for me, Christine,” he said quietly. “I don’t think you’ll ever know how much that meant to me. But... We don’t have to ever do that again, if you’d rather not. I won’t press the issue, or expect that just because we-“ he waved a hand vaguely. “I don’t want you to think you’re obligated. I know that I am not _pleasant_ to look at, and I can’t imagine that being with me like _that_ was particularly enjoyable, or easy, for you.”

She frowned, then looked up at him again. She liked to think that her acting skills weren’t very terrible, but she knew that she wasn’t _that_ good an actress. She thought she had enjoyed herself quite throughly, despite being nervous at first. Had he not realized? Had she been too quiet? 

“I enjoyed it,” she whispered, looking out to sea again. 

He shrugged, not quite believing her. 

“You don’t have to protect my ego, dear. I completely understand if you don’t want to do it again. No one wants a monster pawing at them.”

Her brow furrowed, and she turned to face Erik, swallowing hard. She placed her hands on his chest, and he looked at her, confused. 

“I _do_ want to do it again,” she said nervously, her face going red. “I want to do it _a lot_ , with you.”

She lowered her eyes and her voice, and added- 

“Only with you.”

When she looked up again she could see the confusion in his eyes as he tried to process what she’d said. 

“Christine, please,” he was nearly begging. “I don’t want you to do this out of pity, but you have to understand - I am just broken enough to accept this kind of pity all the same.”

“It’s not pity, Erik,” she shook her head, despairing. “That’s not why I-“ 

She took a little step closer to him, his arms automatically going out to hold her. 

She hadn’t said those words to him last night, not as they were on the balcony, not during their coupling, and not after it was over, when Erik had cradled her head in his hands and looked deep into her eyes with all the honesty in the world as he had whispered it to her over and over through his tears - _I love you, I love you_. She knew that absent those words, he likely thought the actions she’d undertaken that night were motivated by pity, or perhaps even boredom. 

The truth was, she hadn’t said them because they terrified her. It was terrifying to admit that she’d done what she’d done because she had wanted to do it, that she felt something for him that she’d never felt for Raoul, never felt for _anyone_. It was terrifying to admit out loud that she loved this man who would only be hers for such a short while. 

But she was done lying to him, and to herself. 

“Erik,” she whispered, leaning in close to him, licking her dry lips. “Erik, I love you.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, the sudden sharp inhale and his hands clutching at her just a little more possessively the only indication that he’d heard her. 

“Say that again,” he murmured at last. 

“I love you.”

The words were barely out of her mouth when he tipped her head up with a firm hand and claimed her mouth with his own. He could taste the sincerity on her lips. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” she breathed when he broke away. “I didn’t-“

He placed a finger over her mouth, shushing her. 

“You told me,” he said simply. “And that’s all that matters.”

He kissed her again, then trailed little kisses over the side of her face before resting his masked forehead on her own. 

“Because of you, my dear, I have tasted all the happiness that life can offer. I could die a happy man this very instant, and yet I find myself wishing now that I could live forever.”

She blinked away some tears as she smiled up at him, the moonlight making her eyes shine. 

“It’s not pity,” she whispered again. “It’s love. Erik, do you believe me?”

He brushed a stray curl away from her face, his expression sad and hopeful all at once. 

“I want to believe,” he said at last. 

“Then I will have to spend every moment we’re together making you believe,” she put her head on his chest, hugging him tightly. “I love you.”

“You know,” he chuckled darkly. “If we were in any normal situation, this would be the part where I ask you to marry me.”

She laughed along with him, but after a moment her laughter turned to half stifled sobs as she remembered what the reality of their situation was. He buried his face in her hair as he tried to ignore his own tears, holding her close and gently swaying to a music only he could hear. 

_Her husband_. Something she had fought so long to avoid having, now, here with her, and she had completely surrendered to it all. She loved him, she loved him, she loved him - she could feel it, hear it, like her steady pulse, like the beat of his heart under her ear, something nearly tangible between the two of them that filled her and sustained her in the same way her circulatory system kept her alive. 

They stayed like that on the balcony a long time, entwined in each other’s arms. She wished more than anything that they’d never have to leave that spot, that they could simply stay right there for eternity with nothing but the sand and the waves and the moon and the breeze and their love and each other. 

But time kept marching on, drawing them both inevitably closer to day they’d have to say goodbye, closer to heartbreak. 

Erik sighed. 

“Let’s get some sleep, hmm?” he murmured. 

She nodded, and walked with him to his room. She hesitated by the bedside. 

“Can I stay here with you?” she asked, slightly uncertain. 

“Of course, Christine - I was hoping you would,” he smiled. 

She shucked off her dressing gown before she crawled under the covers with him, scooting close so she could put her arms around him. 

“You know,” he chuckled as he ran his fingers through her hair. “I wasn’t quite certain my heart would hold up during all that.”

She looked up at him, surprised. 

“Did you think I would let you do something that might kill you?”

“Hmm, well... Perhaps you wanted to gain your fortune sooner rather than later, my dear,” he teased. 

“You thought I wanted to kill you?” she wavered between amused and offended. “And you still did it?”

“Well, I mean - what better way to go out?” he mused. 

She huffed and shook her head. 

“Do you feel okay?” she asked, suddenly concerned. “Anything unusual?”

“Never better,” he kissed the top of her head. 

They were both quiet a long time, the only sound in the room coming from the steady waves against the beach from the open balcony door. His hands moved from her hair, one going around her to possessively clutch her to himself while the other roamed her every curve with gentle caresses as though he still couldn’t believe she was truly there with him. 

His words about getting his fortune sooner still echoed in her mind, punctuated by the beat of his heart under her ear. 

“Erik,” she said softly. “When we first got married... When I accepted your proposal... I did it because of the money. I think we were both pretty clear on that.”

He made a little noise of agreement. 

“But what we did tonight- what I did... I want you to know, money had nothing to do with that. It was the furthest thing from my mind.” 

“Mmm... You know, right then, money wasn’t exactly on my mind either,” he chuckled, and smirked at his own joke but Christine only frowned. 

“No, Erik - listen to me,” she pleaded. 

“What?”

He turned to face her better. 

She blinked, her eyes filling with tears. 

“I don’t care about your money. I love you for who you are, for who you are to me, for how you make me feel. You could be the poorest man on earth, or deeply in debt, and knowing what I know now - I would marry you in a heartbeat, Erik. I mean it.”

He cupped a hand over her cheek, caressing it before leaning in to kiss her all over her face. 

“You look so appealing when you’re crying,” he murmured between kisses, his gaze intense. 

“Good,” she sniffled and tried to smile. “Because I think there’s a lot more where that came from.”

He laughed before pulling her up to kiss her on the lips. 

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” murmured when he broke away, nuzzling his false nose against hers. 

“It has been a long time, hasn’t it?” she cuddled up closer to him, resting her head on his chest. 

He was quiet a long moment, playing distractedly with her hair as she listened to his steady breathing. 

“How was it?” he asked at last. 

“Hm?”

“How did I compare? To your boy?”

She wrinkled her nose. 

“Erik... Raoul and I... We never...”

“Never?” he echoed. “Not anything?”

“Nothing. All we’d done was kiss... This was my first time,” she said awkwardly, embarrassed. 

“Ohh,” he breathed, a grin breaking out on his face. “Oh.”

She waited for any other question or follow up statement from him, but he just lay there with the stupid grin on his face. She narrowed her eyes at him. He was probably more pleased that she didn’t have anyone to compare him against than anything else in finding out he was her first. 

She closed her eyes. The door to the balcony was still open, and the sound of the ocean was soothing. She’d double check with Erik in the morning, but she was looking forward to sleeping here in this room every night, for as long as she could. She sighed, one arm draped over Erik’s middle as one of his hands was tracing light patterns on her back. 

She dipped in and out of slumber, time seeming to lose all meaning. At some point Erik shifted, or maybe she did, and he ended up with his arms around her and her head on his shoulder. 

“Tell me again, please,” he asked softly. 

She stirred a little, blinking, trying to pull her mind back from the edge of sleep. Somehow she knew what he was asking for without needing clarification. 

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you.”

“Mm,” he kissed her forehead, and she snuggled closer. 

“I love you so much, Erik,” she murmured, and took one of his hands and placed it on her chest. “Do you feel that? Every beat of my heart says it, too - I love you, I love you, I love you-“

She thought she heard him sniffle. 

“You are the best thing to ever happen to me,” she whispered, cupping his sunken cheek in her hand and brushing his tears away with her thumb. “And I will keep telling you until I run out of breath - I love you.”

He tightened his hold on her, but didn’t say anything else. 

She wasn’t certain which of them fell asleep first, but she knew she was the first to wake up. 

The sun was just coming up, pale yet full of promise as it fell across the white bedsheets and her bare skin. She blinked sleepily, wishing she could continue to rest but knowing she’d have to get up sooner or later. After a moment her mind registered that Erik was in the bed with her. 

Not just in the bed with her - he was clinging to her with a surprising amount of strength considering he was asleep, his body practically molded to hers, his face pressed against her breasts. If not for the slight tickle of his breath against her skin, she would have thought him incapable of breathing in that position with his nose structure so impeded. 

She chuckled softly and ran a hand through his hair, gently scratching his scalp with her long nails. 

“Erik,” she said, her voice rough with sleep. “Wake up, honey.”

He made a noncommittal noise and nestled his face deeper. 

“Erik, you can’t breathe like that.”

“‘S worth it,” he mumbled. 

“I want you to keep breathing,” she laughed lightly as she shook him by the shoulder. 

He slowly peeled himself away, sighing as he did so, glancing up at her with hopeful and bleary eyes. 

“Do you still love me?” he asked, sounding half asleep still. 

“I do,” she assured him. “I do. I love you.”

“Mm. Good,” he rolled into his back, closing his eyes. “I was afraid it was all just a dream, or maybe you’d changed your mind.”

She felt a pang of hurt for him. 

“I’m not gonna change my mind, Erik,” she told him softly. “I can’t.”

He glanced doubtfully at her a moment, then reached out to pull her towards him. His hold on her was tentative, as though he couldn’t really believe she was there with him and didn’t want to frighten her off. She snuggled up closer to him, sighing happily. He could see the love shining in her eyes as she looked up at him. 

“You like me,” he breathed with disbelief and a smile. “You really like me.”

He pulled her closer, and she nuzzled her face into his neck, smiling against his skin. 

“I do,” she murmured. 

“I never thought you would ever want to be with me like this,” he admitted, a hand running lazily up and down her back. 

“I didn’t either... And yet... I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

“When did you know?” he asked at last. 

“When did I know what?”

“That you loved me.”

She hummed, thinking. 

“It grew up between us so naturally... It’s hard to say.”

“Well say it anyway.” 

She snickered, but knew that underneath it all he was very insecure, even still. 

“When I first heard your voice back when I still a teen,” she told him, smiling. “I think that’s when it started. I was in love with your voice.”

He arched an eyebrow. 

“Is that so?”

“Mm. But I think I fell in love with the real you slowly, over time. I could name what I felt for you when we were in Scotland, I think.”

“All that time?” he asked. “The whole time?”

“Yeah,” she said in a small voice. “I feel guilty that I didn’t tell you, but- I was scared.”

“Scared?”

Her heart skipped a beat and her eyes flew open as she realized what she’d just said. 

“Not scared! Not scared of _you_ , I mean- I was scared because you’re- well... Our happily ever after has a time limit, doesn’t it?”

“Oh.”

“I’ve loved you since Scotland, and I’ve- I’ve _wanted_ you since halfway through Madrid,” she said shyly. 

“Hmm,” he hugged her closer. “I’ve wanted you like this ever since you first came in my hospital room and yelled at me.”

“Erik!” she laughed. “I didn’t yell at you!”

“That’s not how I remember it, my dear.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. 

“Did you- did you _want_ me before you loved me, or-?” she asked, curious. 

“Hmm... It happens at the same time for me, I think,” he told her with a wry smile. “I always fall in love with every pretty girl I see.”

“Oh, I thought I was special,” she teased, and he laughed. 

“I don’t mean to frighten you, Christine, but I most certainly _wanted_ you from the moment you walked in my hospital room. I would say I loved you, too - who wouldn’t love you? But-“ he paused, thinking. “But I’d say I _fell in love_ with you - deep, devoted love - when you first saw my face.”

“Oh?” 

“You looked right at me, just like you’d look at anyone else,” he said quietly. “I was a dog at your feet from that moment on. I still am. I’d do anything for you.”

“Erik-“ 

She leaned up and kissed his cheek. 

“Do you love me more than Raoul?” he asked suddenly, taking her by surprise. 

She blinked, her eyes starting to sting. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have asked that, I-“

“You love me more than Raoul loves me,” she told him simply. 

He took a moment to absorb that, and she squirmed a little. 

“Or maybe that isn’t fair - maybe he loves me as best he can, the same way I love him the best I can - but you and I fit together better, Erik,” she said. 

“I had just thought-“ he said awkwardly. “That maybe- since you and he never- that maybe you didn’t really-“

She shook her head. 

“That’s not a litmus test of how much I love someone, Erik.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said again, and she shrugged. 

“I loved you before I felt anything else for you. I don’t know why it happened like that, that you make me feel something he didn’t, but that’s just how it is.”

He nodded, thoughtfully running his hand through her hair. 

“I love you, and I love Raoul,” she continued. “I want you in a way I’ve never wanted anyone, before. We fit better together, like I said, but-“

She paused. 

“But I don’t think that’s why we fit together better. I don’t think we’re more suited for each other because I want you - I think we’d fit together better even if I didn’t feel that want. We understand each other better. Erik-“

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry as she sat up. 

“Erik, I think you’re my soul mate.”

The words hung in the air between them, and he was very still. 

“And I’ve thought that since Scotland, and that has nothing to do with whether or not I want sex with you, but it’s true - you’re my soulmate, and you don’t complete me because I wasn’t fragmented or missing something to begin with, but when I’m with you I feel so good about everything, about myself and about the world and the future, and I don’t want that to end- I don’t want it to ever end-“

She was rambling, she knew, and contradicting herself. How could she not love Erik more, when he was her soulmate? But she couldn’t see those years spent with Raoul dismissed so easily - they had _meant_ something to her, they still did, and they weren’t lessened by her experiences with Erik - only that Erik went so far above what she already thought was the height of love. She loved Raoul to the capacity that their connection allowed, the most she could love anyone who wasn’t her soulmate. But Erik- 

She knew she wasn’t making much sense, but she hadn’t realized she was crying until her throat could no longer form words. 

Erik spared her from having to choke and stutter by sitting up and giving her a gentle kiss. 

“You’re my soulmate, too, sweetheart,” he murmured as he pulled away from her lips. “Always have been.”

She sniffled as she hugged him. 

“Do you want to go get breakfast somewhere?” she asked lamely. 

“I want to stay here with my wife who loves me,” he replied. 

“Your wife would be going to breakfast, too, you know,” she laughed through her tears. 

“My wife won’t be naked at breakfast,” he murmured against her ear.

“Erik!”

They took their time getting up and dressed, Erik watching her shyly, torn between wanting to look and wanting to remain a gentleman. Christine blushed but made no mention of wanting privacy as she dressed. 

They headed out, hand in hand and walking close together, stopping in the closest bistro for a quick breakfast. 

Neither one could stop smiling, it seemed. She was sure the waiter was suspicious about why they each seemed on the verge of breaking into laughter. After he took their menus and left to place their order, she took a sip of her water, resting her hand on the table after she set the glass back down. Erik quickly placed his hand on top of hers, squeezing it. Even now, it seemed, he wanted to be close to her. 

They ate their food and headed back to the hotel at Erik’s suggestion. He wanted to stand on the balcony and kiss her while looking at the sea, and she had no objections to this. 

“Do you think you’ll tell your boy?” he murmured against her neck as he held her from behind. “Or am I a forbidden secret?”

Her brow creased. 

“I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “I’ll think about that later. I don’t want to think about him at all right now. All I want to think about is you. Just you, just today. That’s all. And we’ll go to sleep tonight, together. And we’ll wake up in the morning, and do it all over again - just you, just that day.”

She turned around to put her arms around his neck, resting her cheek on his chest. 

“That’s how I want to live,” she whispered. “Just us, and one day at a time.”

“That’s a good way to live,” he said, tugging her backwards as he stepped back to sit in a chair, pulling her down to sit across his lap. 

She squirmed and giggled lightly. 

“Erik, I’m going to cut off the circulation in your legs if I sit here too long.”

He tilted her chin up and kissed her lips. 

“Oh, trust me - there’s plenty of blood getting down there,” he murmured before kissing her again. 

They spent the day walking along the beach, and then ended up back on the balcony where they watched the sun set across the sea, Erik holding her tightly to him. It was inconceivable to her that there would come a day when he wouldn’t be there to hold her like that, but she knew all the same that it was coming. She clung tightly to him and closed her eyes against the reality of it. 

“Should I move my things into here?” she asked quietly as they went to his bedroom. 

“I’d like that very much,” he told her, smiling. 

She brought in her pillows for the bed and a few nightgowns for the dresser. 

There was an odd, awkward silence that permeated the room. She was about to ask him which side of the bed he wanted to sleep on, just to have something to say, when he suddenly walked over to her and gently pulled her into a hug. He carded his fingers through her hair, his hold on her tentative, as though he were still afraid, even in the midst of her moving her things into his room, that she would run from him. 

“I want you,” he whispered, his voice trembling just slightly. 

“Then have me,” she whispered back, and he kissed her. 

She squeezed her hands around the lapels of his nightshirt, her mind wandering back to the previous night and the memory of his fingers pressing into the flesh of her hips and waist. 

He was the one who led them towards the bed this time, giving her an uncertain look as he did so. She smiled warmly at him, hoping that one day he would feel more confident that she wasn’t going to turn him away or refuse. 

She made sure to tell him, this time, that she loved him - over and over, she whispered it against his lips as they kissed and gasped it as she dug her nails into the muscles of his back. She reminded him of it afterwards, as she smoothed the hair away from his forehead as he tried to stifle his sobs in the crook of her neck. 

_I love you, I love you so much_

They fell asleep like that, in each other’s arms, and ended the first day they’d had together as husband and wife. Christine didn’t realize it yet, but it would be the beginning of exactly thirty-four days they would spend together in Portugal, thirty-four days she would treasure the memory of forever. 

She woke the next morning with the sunrise, finding Erik was already awake. He was looking wistfully at her as she’d slept, rolling the end of a small lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. A smile formed on his face when he realized she was awake. 

“Good morning,” she murmured, smiling and stretching a little under the sheets. 

“Good morning,” he replied, a hint of awe still in his voice. 

She yawned and sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, but stopped there, still sleepy, and stared out the window to the endless sea. 

Erik shifted and scooted across the bed to be closer to her, lightly gripping his hands on her upper arms. He rested his cheek against the back of one her shoulders, rubbing his skin against hers. She blinked and glanced back, a little uncertain of what he was doing, especially as he switched sides and rubbed his other cheek against her opposite shoulder. 

It was a heavy mix of warmth with a tinge of sadness when she realized he was nuzzling her. With his lack of a pronounced nose structure, this was the closest he could come to the action without pressing his nasal area against her - something she thought would probably be vaguely unpleasant for both of them. 

He pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades, and she smiled. She shifted slightly, making to stand up, and let go of her. The thought struck her with surprise, that she could feel so comfortable being so bare around someone - but this man had already seen her soul, what was a certain expanse of skin compared to that? 

An idea occurred to her as Erik got out of bed, grabbed his robe, and headed for the bathroom, and she acted on it. Erik’s clothes from the previous day were hastily folded and left at the end of the bed. 

By the time Erik came back, she was wearing his old button-up white linen shirt. He paused in the doorway, his eyes widening. His shirt was long, and the end of it came to nearly her mid thigh. The sleeves were ridiculously long, and she pushed them up to her elbows as best she could. She padded across the floor on bare feet, pushing him gently out of the doorway with a hand on his chest as he stared at her, unblinking. 

“What do you want to do today, dear?” she asked him, glancing behind her shoulder as she walked past him. 

She couldn’t help the little flicker of satisfaction she felt at seeing his mouth try and fail to form words as he stared at her backside. 

“Ah- _ahem_ \- we, ah- we could do- do a lesson, if you wish,” he finally managed to say, and finally managed to glance briefly up at her face. 

“I’d like that!”

The next few days were spent with trying new restaurants, her singing lessons on the balcony in the fresh air, long walks on the beach, and evenings spent entwined beneath the sheets. 

It amazed her how often Erik reached for her, how often he wanted to touch her, but not just in a sexual context. He seemed to crave simply being there with her, to remind himself that she didn’t flinch under his touch. He hugged her often, and wanted to hold her hand as much he could. He loved touching her hair, too, and placing a hand on her shoulder or back, and touching her face. Even in restaurants he’d reach out to touch her hands on the table. It made her heart ache to realize that he was man who had likely longed for physical affection in any form for his entire life and yet had always been denied it. When she wanted to show to love to someone, she spent time with them, because time was a precious commodity to her - when Raoul wanted to show love for someone, he complimented them with what he appreciated about the person, but Erik - when he wanted to show his love, Erik touched. Gentle touches, comforting ones, passionate ones - she loved being the recipient of all of them. And his kisses, too - he reserved those for when they were in private, but he was exceedingly generous with them once they were alone. He was a quick learner in this regard, and with gentle guidance from her and a lot of practice, he soon became quite skilled in that regard. 

He loved holding her, too, and often wanted her in the same chair as him, regardless of how well they fit. 

It was one evening as they were watching the sun set across the ocean, her sitting across his lap with her hands around his shoulders, that he brought it up. 

“Christine,” he asked, an unusual hint of bashfulness in his voice. “If I- well, if I bought you something to wear... Would you wear it for me?”

It took her a moment to fully grasp what he was asking, but once she understood, she answered quickly, a faint blush creeping up on her cheeks. 

“Yes. I would.”

“Anything?” he asked hopefully. 

“Anything,” she confirmed. 

He breathed a sigh of relief, smiling. He didn’t say any more on the subject, but Christine was highly curious. 

What was this mysterious thing that Erik fantasized about seeing her in? All sorts of images came to mind. A silk slip, cut low in the front and even lower in the back? A velvet nightie, covering only what it had to? Or was it something else, something smaller - a set of sheer lace undergarments that left nothing to the imagination? 

For as much as she knew about him, there were some things that she was still completely in the dark about - mostly with what he secretly longed for, and what found attractive... besides all of her, apparently. She wondered about what colors he wanted to see her in, too. While it was possible that he wanted to see her in something seductive, like black or red, she had the suspicion that he’d pick something like a virginal white or cream. There were still corners of this man’s mind that were a mystery to her, and she longed to discover all the secrets held there. 

It was only a handful of days later that a number of boxes were delivered to their front door step. 

“Christine,” he told her urgently. “It’s here.”

“Oh,” she said, a little surprised. “Okay.”

He stared at her a moment. 

“Would you- could you put it on now?”

“Oh,” she said again. “Sure.”

It was the middle of the afternoon, but if that was what he wanted- 

“It’s in your room, my dear,” he told her eagerly, rubbing his hands together in anticipation and looking her up down like she was a meal he was about to consume. “Just put it on and let me see.”

She felt a blush creep up on her cheeks - she’d never considered herself the kind of person to do these kinds of things, but it wasn’t as bad as she would have thought. It had a certain allure, with Erik. 

She went to her room and closed the door, then spied the packages on her bed. She frowned. They were so big, and there were so many of them... Had they sent over the wrong thing? Was this what Erik had ordered? 

Her confusion only deepened as she opened the boxes and found pieces of what looked like a blue Victorian era dress, complete with layers of baffling undergarments and a cage-like contraption that she had the sneaking suspicion went over her butt to make it look bigger. 

She huffed an exhale and shook her head, beginning to undress from her own sensible outfit and preparing to change into the thing Erik had apparently wanted her in. 

She put the layers on as best she could, horrified by the pantalets that were embarrassingly open at the crotch. Try as she might, she couldn’t get the bodice of the gown to fit right and was swiftly becoming frustrated. Had women really dressed like this? Every damn day? 

“Erik,” she opened the door and whined through it. “I can’t get it on. Did they send the wrong size? Is this even what you ordered?”

“Yes, I checked it when it arrived,” he called out to her, his voice slowly coming closer. “And I know it’s the right size - I’m familiar enough with your body to know,” he chuckled. 

He paused, taking in the vision of her in the dress, before swiftly advancing on her, joining her in her room. 

“I can’t get it on,” she pouted, showing him the way the bodice was wrinkly and wouldn’t line up to fasten. 

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich as he wrapped his arms around her and began undressing her from behind. 

“The chemise goes _under_ the corset, my lovely girl,” he murmured in her ear, his breath hot and making her squirm. 

He pulled the chemise down and plucked at the laces of the corset until it came off, and spent the next quarter of an hour dressing her as though she were a doll - and then the next hour making love to her while she was wearing the dress. She was amazed at both how well he knew his way around all the little fastenings of the garment and also how much it seemed to inspire his passions. 

Erik was not a young man anymore, and his health problems held him back as well in certain areas. She knew being with him wasn’t quite all it could be with someone like Raoul, but she found she truly didn’t mind. A slow and gentle lover suited her just fine, and the fact it was Erik made up for anything else - and his talented, insistent, hands and fingers certainly helped. She knew it wasn’t exactly his first choice, that there was so much more he would have wanted to do, but he seemed content with what they could do, and he seemed to find a certain enjoyment from every so often murmuring every last filthy, vulgar thing he wished to do to her in her ear with extreme detail as they made love. She’d listen with red cheeks and make encouraging noises, embarrassed and flattered and occasionally slightly grossed out. The man certainly had a way with words. 

But it wasn’t all sex - oftentimes he only wanted to cuddle. 

“This is my favorite,” he confessed one morning as he held her close to his chest while they lay in bed. 

“Mm?” she blinked sleepily as she snuggled closer. “What is?”

“Just this. Just knowing you love me.”

“Of course I love you.”

“I’d rather have this, you know,” he told her softly, running a hand through her hair. “The fact that you love me means more to me than the sex.”

She was silent as she listened to him. She’d felt bad about turning him down for the first time the previous night. She knew she should have said yes, should have let him, but the truth was she hadn’t felt well and really hadn’t wanted to. He’d sensed her unease and asked her if she was okay, and when she asked him if they could just sleep, he’d quickly agreed, and though she knew he was slightly disappointed, he hadn’t push the issue but she’d felt guilty ever since. 

“A lot of women, I think, would have had sex with me if they were in your position - if I had paid them to marry me. But to be loved-“ he trailed his fingertips over the side of her face. “To be loved? Truly loved? That’s something that can’t be bought or coaxed or coerced in any way, and that’s what you’ve given me, and that’s my favorite thing, ever.”

She scrunched her eyes shut and pressed her face against him. He always knew what to say to make her feel like the most special girl on earth. 

“I had figured, on occasion,” he continued. “That I might be able to experience the joys of the flesh with a woman if I really wanted to - if I want to risk countless rejection, there _are_ ways to eventually do so. But to be loved for myself - I never thought that could ever happen. Never. And then you came along.”

He kissed her forehead. 

“As delightful as the sex is, my dear, if I had to chose between that and love - I would pick love, every time.”

“Oh, Erik-“ she breathed, tears filling her eyes. 

He paused a moment. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Christine,” he mused, sliding his hand down her back until it rested on her butt, giving it a squeeze. “I _really_ like the sex.”

Her tears turned to laughter. 

Days passed, and she tried not to count them. Each one was a gift, even the tiring ones, the annoying ones, the ones spent sightseeing when all she wanted was just to hold him, the ones spent indoors when he didn’t feel up to going anywhere, even the ones where he woke her up in the middle of the night. 

“Christine... Christine,” he whispered insistently, shaking her arm. 

“Hm?” she tried to rouse herself from sleep, afraid he was having an emergency. “What is it?”

“I just had a dream,” he told her. “I dreamed I was a rat that didn’t have any fur, but I _did_ have a nose.”

She furrowed her brow. 

“Wha-“

“But wait - the best part? You were there, too. You were a little mouse, with gold and white fur and cute little whiskers and a long pink tail and tiny little hands... You were so beautiful,” he smiled as he nuzzled his face against her hair. 

“Erik, what on earth-“

“My little mouse,” he sighed. “My sweet Christine.”

She didn’t know how she felt about being a mouse. She wasn’t overly fond of it. But she supposed being _Erik’s_ mouse wasn’t too terrible... 

“We were in love, even then,” he murmured, already half asleep again. 

She almost snorted at the idea of a rat and mouse being in love - a rat was far more likely to view a mouse as meal than anything else - but it was rather adorable in its absurdity. 

Adorable in absurdity - just like her husband. He was full of odd little observations, but on occasion he’d bring up incredibly deep topics out of the blue. 

“Christine?” he asked softly one night, his fingers running through her hair as they lay in bed. 

“Hmm?” she replied sleepily, her eyelids fluttering open a second before closing again. 

“If you- if you got pregnant, what would you do?” 

She opened her eyes. He sounded deeply sad, and a little fearful. 

“What do you mean?” she whispered. 

Did Erik think she’d drop the baby off at an orphanage at the first chance she got?

“I mean... Would you go through with the pregnancy?”

Her breath caught in her throat. Erik didn’t even think she would want to carry the pregnancy to term. 

She blinked a few times. 

“I haven’t thought about it,” she said in a small voice. 

In truth, she hadn’t. Her pills had afforded her that piece of mind. 

“I think I would,” she said finally, and she feel him breathe a small sigh of relief. “If it happened- I would keep it.”

“The pregnancy or the child?” he asked, his hand stilling. 

“Both,” she answered, then propped herself up to look at him. “Erik- what’s brought this on?”

“I’ve been careless,” he admitted, glancing away, but his hand slid from her hip to rest just below her navel. “I’ve been exceedingly careless with you. I should have been using protection. And now-“

She bit her lip, her brow knitting. 

“It’s okay, Erik,” she assured him, laying back down on his chest. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I do worry,” he insisted. “You’d be all alone to raise that child, and it would look like-“

He gestured to his own face, an anguished frown there. 

“I couldn’t do that to you,” he finished, shaking his head. 

She studied him carefully. 

“I don’t think that’s likely to be inherited,” she told him. 

He looked surprised. 

“Really?”

“Really. Or if it could be, it’s such a small chance. I don’t think I’d be worried about the baby having it.”

“You think I’d have a normal child?” 

There was an odd hint of hope in his voice. 

“I do think so. Erik,” she hesitated. “Do you- do you _want_ to be a father?”

He was quiet a long moment. 

“I don’t think it matters, really. Not now. Even if you were already- I wouldn’t be here to see the end result. It’s too late for all that,” he said at last. 

“Oh.”

She’d always felt ambivalent about having children. When she was much younger, she’d thought having children was what she was supposed to do. When she was a little older, all she’d wanted to do was sing. And then that had fallen through, and she figured if she got married, she’d likely end up with a kid or two, or more, if her husband wanted it. Raoul wanted to have children, she knew that. But that was easy for Raoul to say - his job in the matter would be over in minutes, and she’d be the one uncomfortable and unable to work for over a year. 

But did Erik want children? He was right, though - he wouldn’t even live to see it, maybe not even long enough to feel it kick in her womb. 

“If things were different,” she tried. “Do you wish you could have been a father?”

“I wish a great deal of things had been different, Christine,” he chuckled darkly. “Besides, I don’t like thinking on such things, not now. I’ve had lifetimes worth of crushed dreams and out of reach goals, what’s one more to be added in the pile?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. 

“Don’t be. I have you, that’s enough. At the end of all of it - there’s you. That’s enough.”

He leaned down and pulled her up and pressed kiss after kiss to her face and the top of her head. 

“I’d much rather live in the moment,” he murmured against her hair. “Especially when the moment is this one.”

He kissed her on the mouth, deeply. 

They spent the rest of the evening in that way, slow caresses and languid kisses, neither one seeking to take it further, but both content with the intimacy and pleasure they had from just this. 

He began to complain of joint pain the next few days, and though he assured her it was just his arthritis, she wasn’t entirely convinced. 

“I just need to take a bath,” he told her, rubbing his elbows. “A nice hot bath always helps.”

She raised an eyebrow at “hot”. 

“I’ll draw the bath for you,” she told him, and headed towards the bathroom. 

She kept a careful check on the temperature, and finally she called him in when the tub was full. 

“Thank you, my dear,” he smiled at her as he entered, and went to stick his hand in the water to be sure it was to his liking. “You didn’t have to do that for- Christine, this water is cold!”

“It’s not cold,” she insisted. “It’s warmer than the room temperature - it’s not _hot_ but it’s certainly not _cold_.”

He looked at her like she was toying with him. 

“I’m not getting in a cold tub,” he said. “Can’t you warm it up?”

“This is as warm it can safely be, Erik.”

“Really now-“ he dunked his hand in the water again. “Would _you_ bathe in water like that?”

“As a matter of fact, I would,” she said primly, a little smirk forming on her lips. “And if you get in the tub, I promise you that I will get in with you.”

His entire expression changed. 

“Oh?”

“Mm hmm. The water might not be as hot as you’d like, but, perhaps- perhaps I can help you warm up.”

He fiddled with the buttons on his shirt, glancing anxiously from the water to her and back again, swallowing hard. 

“I think I’d like that,” he said. 

He undressed and got in, and once he was in Christine walked around to the back of him and began undressing as well. He tried his best to seem nonchalant as he craned his head around, trying - and failing - to catch a look at her as she undressed. She surprised him by slipping into the tub behind him, wrapping her arms around him. 

“There,” she whispered as he leaned back against her, her arms draped over his shoulders, a hand on his chest where she could feel his heartbeat. “Doesn’t that feel much warmer?”

“Much,” he breathed. 

After that, he began to ask for her to draw a bath every few days, and she always obliged and always joined him. 

With their newfound sleeping habits, she found her quiet time in the evenings hard to come by. Instead it was replaced by time with Erik, which she loved, but she found as much as she loved him, she still needed a bit of peace and solitude. Erik seemed understanding of this, and her private time was moved to the afternoons when they weren’t going anywhere, and the early mornings of the days when they did venture out. He respected her solitude as much as he could, but she found she didn’t mind the occasions when he’d join her in quietness - she would read a book on the couch, and he would rest his head in her lap as he watched the television play silently, her fingers meditatively running through his hair, lightly dragging her nails against his scalp. She didn’t mind sharing this time with him like that. If she wanted to be truly alone - and every so often she did - she took a walk down the beach by herself. 

Sometimes the ocean in its vastness was comforting, a reminder that some things stayed the same for eons and never truly left, only changed form and continued to go on and on, but sometimes it was terribly lonely even when she was looking to be alone, a strange, haunting hollowness that reminded her just how very small she was in the world. She continued her private walks down the sand, leaving footprints that would shortly be blown away by the wind as she tried her best to cope with the sea of emotions she found herself adrift in. These walks felt important to keep up, even if they weren’t enjoyable in the same way beach walks with Erik were. 

He seemed to never tire of staring at the ocean. One day they packed a picnic lunch and found a spot that was mostly secluded from the handful of other beach-goers, a little alcove in the rocks on the shore that hid them from being viewed on either side. They lingered there long after their lunch was finished, content to watch and listen to the ocean and cuddle. 

It was in the middle of cuddling that she suddenly felt something that hadn’t been there during lunch. She glanced up at him and he glanced away, embarrassed. 

“Would you like some help with that, monsieur?” she smirked. 

“Chris _tine_ -“ he whined. “We are in a public place. Someone might see you.”

“Is that a yes or a no?” she teased. 

“That’s an _I hate every single person who is currently standing in the way of this_ ,” he murmured as he kissed her neck. “That’s a _yes but I don’t want us to get arrested_.”

She bit her lip. At any given moment there was a likelihood, however small, that someone might walk by - they were far enough away from everyone else, but the possibility that someone might come closer was there. She chided herself for wearing shorts that day instead of a skirt - they lacked the same convenience as a skirt, and there was no way she could safely take them off here and still make herself presentable quickly enough should someone approach. 

She leaned close to him, sliding her hand down to his pants, unfastening them. She’d never done this before, but there was a first time for everything, wasn’t there? 

“Christine-“ he looked at her, surprised. “What are you plann-“ 

He words were cut off when she ducked her head down, and he bit back a groan, tangling his fingers in her hair. When it was over he pulled her up and pressed kiss after kiss to her aching jaw and sticky lips. 

“Christine Carrière, you little minx,” he purred against her mouth. “You absolute fiend, you jezebel, you-“

“Hey,” she laughed, fixing the front of his pants. “I am a _lady_.”

“What a lady,” he smirked. 

She lay her head against his chest, smiling. She never thought she would be the person she currently was. But being with Erik - being perfectly loved for being her imperfect self - seemed to make her feel as though she were free to explore anything and everything about herself, to try on new ideas, and to change her mind if she ended up not liking something. She couldn’t imagine feeling that with anyone else, that kind of freedom. Suddenly she was able to whatever she wanted, and that brought its own kind of terror with it - did she really know what she wanted? 

She wasn’t so sure anymore. Certain ideas that used to be the furthest thing from her mind were soon appearing in her thoughts nearly every day, and she didn’t know what to make of it. 

It was at the forefront of her mind the next morning when she awoke, just like how it had been on her mind when she’d floated off to sleep. 

She got up to dress and get ready for the day, closing the bathroom door behind her. Like she did every morning, she turned the sink faucet to fill a glass, and, also like every morning, she flipped open her compact and pulled out a pill. 

She stared at it in the palm of her hand for a moment, rolling it this way and that. 

If she didn’t take it- if she didn’t take it the next morning, or the morning after that, or the next- 

It would be incredibly likely, considering how often she and Erik were together. Her window of deciding was swiftly closing - eventually, his heart wouldn’t be strong enough for their current activities. Did she want to have his child? 

He wouldn’t be there for it, for any of it. She’d be flying back to France, widowed and pregnant, to raise a child by herself. But it would be _Erik’s_ child. A little piece of him still in the world, someone to carry on his legacy. She could afford a nanny, maybe even Meg could come live with her or something. It would be difficult, but she would manage just fine, she thought. All it would take was just skipping this one little pill each morning. Did she want that? 

She took a shaky breath, and, with a trembling hand, downed the pill and the glass of water. 

She had enough to worry about right now. She tried not to examine too closely the reason that she felt disappointed as she drank the rest of her water. 

She left the bathroom and found Erik dressing in the bedroom. Without a word she went up to him and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly and pressing her face to him. 

One day there wasn’t going to be any Erik left in the world, and she didn’t know how she was going to face that. 

“Christine-“ 

He patted her arm, then hugged her. 

“It’s alright, dearest,” he murmured, as though he’d guessed the cause of her mood. “I’m okay.”

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I love you.”

He reached down and tilted her chin up so that he could press kisses to her cheek and jawbone before kissing her mouth long and slow. 

“I love you too, Christine,” he said when he finally broke away, his voice husky. 

She didn’t know how she was going to decide - her mind seemed to sway as easily as branches in the breeze. She only hoped that whatever her final decision was, she didn’t regret it in the end. 

She grew to hate anything that reminded her of the passing time. 

Erik came up to her one morning before they set out for sightseeing. He hugged her and held a book out to her. 

“It’s finished,” he said kindly, a little sad and a little proud. 

Her breath caught in her throat. Her music book. The one she’d need when he was gone. He’d finished writing it. She took the book and pressed it to her chest before hugging him again, tighter this time. She felt the sting of tears st the corners of her eyes. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

He pulled away after a moment, his expression conflicted behind his mask. 

“Are you ready for the museum?” he asked, trying to keep his tone airy, trying to not succumb to thinking about what it all meant too hard. 

“I’m ready,” she nodded and wiped at her eyes. 

It was later that night as they watched tv together on the couch that Erik kicked his shoes off and rested his feet up on the coffee table. The movement drew her gaze, and she was about to tease him about what he was doing when she noticed his ankles looked a little swollen. She frowned. 

“I should call your doctor,” she mused aloud. 

“What for?” he asked. 

“Your ankles are swollen.”

She didn’t mention the cough he couldn’t quite hide anymore, the one that had slowly become a little more common in recent weeks. 

“The devil is he going to do about it?” he muttered, his brow crinkling. 

“He can write you a prescription for a diuretic.”

“A what?”

“A pill, a water pill - it helps you expel excess fluid.”

“Expel- oh, good, just what I wanted. To spend my last days with frequent bouts of peeing.”

“Erik,” she huffed. “It’ll help you. I know it hurts.”

She placed a hand overtop his knee. 

“Less swelling means less pain,” she added softly. 

“You can call him,” he said after a moment. “If you think it’ll help.”

She called the next day, and after the issue of his new prescription was settled, they chatted for a short time, mostly over Erik’s health and how he was doing. 

“If any problems come up, this is the number you can reach me at,” she told him. 

“I’ll make a note of it,” the doctor said. 

She didn’t think much of it the following day, or the day after, or the one after that, when she left Erik napping on the couch - he often seemed to need naps nowadays - and went to walk on the beach. 

The salt air cleared her mind just slightly, but it was just enough. 

She could hear the phone ringing inside as she unlocked the door. It had stopped by the time she was inside. Erik was no longer on the couch, but he walked out of their bedroom just enough that she could see where he was - he had answered the call. He looked oddly serious as he listened to whoever was on the other end, the cord stretched to its limit. 

He studied her for a moment, a strange expression on his bare face, and it made her stomach do a nervous flip. Who was he talking to? 

“What would that mean for me?” he asked to whoever it was, turning away from her and pacing back into the bedroom, the phone cord coiling up again. 

She sneaked in to listen, a cold sweat creeping over her. Only three people had their current phone number - Meg, his doctor - and Raoul. 

She had barely spared even a thought for her ex-fiancé since their last conversation - she hadn’t called or written. She’d been too consumed with her new life with Erik. Was it Raoul on the other end? What had Erik told him? What was Raoul saying? 

“Do you really think so?”

He looked oddly hopeful, then suddenly conflicted. 

“I appreciate the offer, I really do - but I don’t think I’ll be doing that,” Erik said quietly, then paused. “Yes, I know what that means.”

He rubbed at his forehead, frowning. She squeezed the doorframe, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Thank you,” he said at last. “Yes, I’ll let you know. Goodbye.”

He hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment before turning walking towards the door, looking in Christine’s direction but not quite at her. 

“How was your walk, my dear?” He asked, his tone far too casual. 

“It was okay,” she said in a small voice. “Who was that on the phone?”

“No one,” he shrugged as he poured himself a glass of seltzer. 

She noticed his hand was trembling. 

“Erik-“

“There’s a lovely place I heard about that I think we should try for dinner,” he said, taking a sip. “It’s fancy, too, so we’d have to dress up. Do you think you could wear your blue gown?”

She thought of the Victorian gown and smiled a little. 

“I could wear it, but I don’t think you could control yourself in public if I did.”

He laughed, the same laugh she loved so much, and her worries began to fade.

They went to dinner, and she wore a different dress, a modern one. He wore his tuxedo and slicked his hair back. It was a gorgeous evening, almost enough to make her forget about the phone call. 

But she didn’t bring it up again, and neither did he. She wasn’t sure if that was the right choice, if she should have pressed the issue, but she left it at that. 

It seemed he still had something on his mind the next couple days, however. 

“Christine,” he held his arms out to her. “Come here, darling.”

She joined him on the couch, falling into his embrace. 

“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he murmured, kissing the side of her face. 

“What is it?” 

But he only kept kissing her, moving down her jaw and her neck. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through his hair, sighing happily. 

“Do you plan on marrying Raoul, still?” he asked softly between kisses. 

She opened her eyes, her hands stilling. She thought of the letter she’d written and burned, and of the letter she’d written and buried. 

She let her arms wrap around his neck, leaning closer to him. 

“Yes,” she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder. “Yes, I suppose I do. I promised him, and a promise is a promise, isn’t it?”

He pulled her away enough to look in her eyes, but she had to look away after a moment. Hadn’t she already broken a promise to Raoul? 

“We have to keep our promises, don’t we?” she said weakly, glancing up at him again. She almost hoped he’d say no, that he could somehow absolve her from that promise she’d made and now dreaded. 

“Yes,” he said sadly. “I suppose we do.”

He absentmindedly brushed a curl away from her face, letting it wrap around his finger. He looked like he was very far away in deep thought. 

“Why?” she asked. 

He shook his head and smiled ruefully. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he sighed. 

“Was this what you wanted to talk about?”

Her brow furrowed, and he kissed her there, making her smile instead. 

“We already talked,” he said, kissing her forehead again. “There’s nothing else to say on the matter - not with words, at least.”

He swooped one hand down her back and lower, squeezing her butt. She laughed and kissed him on the mouth, but his tone had worried her - and so did the desperate way he kissed. 

“Are you mad?” she asked breathlessly when she broke away from the kiss. “That I’ll go back to Raoul?”

He was quiet a long time, simply holding her and thinking. 

“Will he make you happy?” he asked finally. “Do you want to be with him?”

She tried to swallow but there was a lump in her throat. 

“Yeah,” she said, but she was on the verge of tears. 

Raoul had made her happy, once upon a time. Perhaps he could do so again in the future - or at least help to numb the pain of losing Erik and being all alone in the world once again. 

“Then I’m not mad,” he smiled sadly. “I’d do anything for you, Christine Daaé.”

He seemed on the verge of tears too, and Christine felt something was terribly wrong but she didn’t know what. She opened her mouth to say something, but he suddenly reclined on the couch and moved her on his lap to straddle him, a hand on the back of her head and gentle pressure to bring her down to kiss him again. She kissed him passionately, tears dripping down her face and mingling with his own tears on his cheeks. 

They stayed there on the couch like that long after making love, both of them quiet and pensive. She listened to his heartbeat, her ear to his chest, while he combed his fingers through her hair and pet her back. It was raining outside, and they could faintly hear the raindrops against the roof and windows. 

They didn’t discuss Raoul again, and a few days later they took lounge chairs out to the beach in the afternoon. Erik wanted to sit as close by the ocean as possible. 

They put their chairs next to each other on the sand, and she closed her eyes, letting the rays of sun warm her and trying to pretend that that warmth wasn’t getting weaker as the sun drew closer to the sea. 

This was like living in a dream, and though she tried her best not to think about it, she dreaded the day she’d have to wake from it. But for now - the sun, the sea, the breeze, Erik, and her - these were the only things that mattered. 

She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at Erik. He’d fallen asleep, the sun too warm for him to fight it. She was glad she’d insisted on sunscreen. He never made a big deal out of it, but she knew he’d been more tired lately. She was almost glad that their travels had come to an end - she didn’t think he’d have enough energy to keep trekking across the globe for very much longer. He deserved to rest. 

She closed her eyes again and smiled as she leaned back in her chair just like him, desperately trying to ignore the tear rolling out from under her sunglasses and down her cheek. 

A half hour later, the breeze started to turn chilly. She turned and reached out to Erik, shaking his arm to wake him. 

He frowned and pulled back from her, cracking his golden eyes open to glare at her. She laughed at his expression. She loved her grumpy husband. 

“It’s getting cold out,” she explained, smiling. “You have to wake up so we can go inside.”

He groaned and stretched. 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” he grumbled. “I was just resting my eyes.”

“Oh, I see. Well, it’s time to go in.”

He still seemed rather sleepy as they made their way inside, stretching and yawning. She patted him on the back as he made his way to the couch to sit down. 

“Let’s order room service for dinner, okay?” she told him, and he nodded. 

The phone rang, and she answered it. 

“Hello?”

“Christine, how are you?” the voice of Erik’s doctor in France asked. 

“Good, how are you?”

“Good, good. I was checking in on if you’d gotten the prescription okay?”

“Yes, we did,” she told him. 

It had been procured from a local pharmacy with only a slight hassle, and Erik had spent the first few days on the medication giving her a doleful look each time he had to head to the bathroom, to which she’d only rolled her eyes. 

“Is he still holding up okay?”

“He’s doing fine, all things considered. He’s been a little sleepy lately, but still active.”

“That’s good to hear. He’s held up better than I would have thought, it seems like. It’s shame he turned down the new treatment.”

Christine felt like the world had ceased to spin. She gripped the receiver tightly, her knuckles going white, her voice shaking as she asked-

“He what?”


	19. Chapter 19

“He what?” she asked again, feeling like she was moving through a dream. 

The doctor paused a moment. 

“He turned down the offer of treatment I made to him last week. Did he not tell you?”

She cleared her throat, trying not to cry. 

“What treatment?” she managed to ask even though her mind was reeling. 

“It’s something new - experimental, really - a combination medicine and surgery and a few other tweaks. I explained it all to him, but he said no.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, I see. Thank you.”

“Yeah, I thought he might do well with it, but-“ she could hear the shrug in his voice. “Let me know if he changes his mind, okay?”

“Okay. Goodbye, doctor.”

She hung up the phone, a faint ringing in her ears. 

She left the room and found Erik staring sleepily at blank television screen. What was he thinking? 

“Why did you tell your doctor you didn’t want any treatment?” The words fell out of her mouth, hollow and shocked. 

He perked up, eyes going wide as he turned to look at her. He was no longer sleepy. 

“Christine-“ 

“Why would you do that?” she felt great, wracking sobs about to bubble up in her. 

“It’s not- it’s not treatment, Christine - it’s not a cure - it’s just- it would buy time but I wouldn’t get _better_ , I’d just-“

“But would it keep you from getting worse?”

“It might,” he swallowed. 

“Then what the fuck were you thinking when you turned him down?” she cried, falling onto the couch next to him. 

“When I turned him down... I was thinking of our original agreement,” he explained, smoothing a hand over her hair. “You had promised to be my wife until the end, and when you promised that, you thought the end was only six months away. It felt cruel to extend that, when that wasn’t you signed up for... We could have gotten an annulment, if you didn’t want to stick around, but-“ he swallowed hard. “I would rather have less time, and have it with you, than have longer without you.”

“Were you even going to ask me?” she sniffed. “Were you even going to _tell_ me?”

“Yes, I think so - but I wasn’t sure, exactly. I didn’t know how - or if I even should. I thought maybe- maybe it would be easier for you if I didn’t...”

“Why would you think I’d want that?”

“I don’t think you _wanted_ it, but surely you _expected_ it. You have an entire future planned, one that can only start after I’m gone. I know that Raoul is waiting for at the end of this, too.”

“I don’t give a fuck what Raoul wants,” she sobbed against his chest. “I want _you_ , Erik.”

He pulled her face up to kiss her tears away. 

“I want you, too, sweetheart,” he murmured. “But- you said yourself you still wanted to marry Raoul.”

She was reeling from the shock of it all. The man who had decided to live because she had begged him to live had been planning on just fading away because he had thought it would please her. She’d never wanted that kind of power, never wanted that at all. 

She broke into fresh sobs as she threw her arms around him and clung to him tightly. 

“I would give away every last coin of your fortune if it meant I could have just one day more with you,” she said, her voice wavering. “I would give all of it up, all of it. I mean it, Erik. I would never speak to Raoul again if it meant I could keep you-!”

“You’d really give all that up?” he asked, uncertain. 

“ _Yes!_ Erik, yes - I love you. I want you for as long as I can have you, longer than six months- longer than the three months you have left, please,” she begged. 

“Christine,” he said, his voice low. “I want you to think this through. I want you to think about what this all means.”

She sniffled as she looked up at him with red and watery eyes. 

“I might have to spend a lot of time at the hospital. I might go through all this, and it won’t even make a difference - I might still only have a few months or less. This might not even do anything - it’s only experimental.”

She was quiet and still, struck for he first time with the realization that maybe _Erik_ didn’t want this. Maybe he wanted to run out his remaining days here, on the beach with her. Was she being selfish? What if the treatment was very painful and arduous, and he just didn’t want to go through all of that? 

“But-“ he hesitated. “It could also go very well. There’s no guarantee of anything. Right now, Raoul knows we have about three months left. Do you really think he’ll wait for you if you can’t give him a definite range of how long he’s going to wait? What if I live for another year? Or more?”

She stared at him, eyes unblinking. 

“I would break both of Raoul’s hands for you to live another year,” she said firmly. 

He faltered, then cleared his throat. 

“Well, it’s lucky for the boy that that’s not necessary, isn’t it?” he tried to joke. 

She wiped her hands across her face. 

“Erik,” she whispered, desperate. “Do you know how many nights I’ve fallen asleep wishing for something to drop from the sky and cure you? How many mornings longing for just one more, and another, and another? How often I pause during the day and die a little inside knowing I won’t have you with me this time next year?”

He looked away, pained. 

“You won’t grow bored of me?”

“What? No! Never.”

“We won’t be in exotic locations, we won’t be in fancy hotels - we’ll be back in boring old France in my dusty old house and you won’t have the excitement you have now - you’ll just have me. Are you sure the novelty won’t wear off?”

“Erik - just you is all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t love you because of where we are, I love you because of you.”

He squeezed his hands around his knees, biting his lip and looking away. His golden eyes were filling with tears. 

“What we have now is _so good_ ,” he said, his voice tremulous. “And I’m afraid- I’m afraid if we go back to France, that all that will change. That you’ll grow to resent me, or things will get difficult, or you’ll get tired of me, or realize you really don’t love me after all.”

His voice broke, and she reached out to comfort him but he flinched away. Her eyes widened as she began to realize just how deep this fear ran for him. 

“I couldn’t cope with that, Christine - with seeing you grow cold and distant. With you leaving. With you staying if you didn’t want to-“

He took his mask off and pressed the heels of palms into his eyes. 

“Right now I have everything I ever wanted and I’m so scared something is going to change that,” he cried. 

“I won’t,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I won’t change. We won’t change. I love you, and nothing will change that.”

“And I thought- if I didn’t say anything- if nothing changed, well... We could just spend the rest of the time here, happy,” he sniffled into his hands. “And then- and then you said you’d still marry your boy, and I thought-“

“Do you know why I said I’d marry him?” she asked. 

“Because you love him too. Because you want to be with him-“

“Because I can’t stand the thought of how crushingly lonely I will be after you,” she said around the lump in her throat. “Because my world stopped when my father died, and Raoul was there to make sure I ate and slept and got through the day. And when I lose you, my world is not only going to stop, it’s going to _shatter_ , Erik, and Raoul is just kind enough and well-meaning enough to help me try to pick up the pieces afterwards. Erik - I choose you, and I always will. Always.”

He wiped and rubbed at his face. 

“If we go back to France... Your boy will be there. What if you- you start to get nostalgic for him, you miss him?”

She frowned. 

“I’ll break up with him, Erik. Permanently. I’m married to _you_. You’re the only one I want. You don’t have to worry about him.”

He said nothing, only kept wiping at his tears. 

“Let me get you a tissue,” she said, rising off the couch. 

She paused in the bathroom, wiping at her own face and splashing cold water on her blotchy face. When she returned from the bathroom with a few tissues, she found him standing out on the balcony. He took the tissues from her and blew his nose, turning away from her as he did so. 

“Are you ready to go back to France, then?” he murmured after a moment, and she stepped closer to him until he held out his arm to her. 

“Is that what you want?” she asked softly as she stood in his embrace, looking out at the waves with him. “That’s what you want, right? To go back to France and start treatment? Even if- even if it doesn’t pan out?”

He was quiet a long moment. 

“Erik,” she murmured. “I’m going to stay by your side no matter what. If you want to stay here at the beach, I will stay here and love you and hold your hand and cherish each day we have together as we wait. And if you go back to France to try to fight this, I will go with you and I will fight right beside you the entire way, and I will love you just as much as I do here. I will always be by your side to love and support you no matter what, regardless of if you have three months left or three decades left. Don’t choose based on what I want. It’s your life, and you need to choose for you.”

Erik squeezed his arms around her a little tighter, squinting out at the sunset on the water. As the last remnant of light began to fade, he pressed his face against her hair, taking a deep breath of her perfume. 

“I’ve made my choice,” he whispered. 

They stayed out on the balcony until the moon had risen and the stars were twinkling. They walked back into their room, hand in hand. They were both very quiet as they went about preparing for bed, both thinking about the path that lay ahead of them. 

Christine sat down on the edge of the bed, picking up the telephone and dialing the number she knew so well, despite the hour of the night. Erik gave her space, realizing what she was about to do. 

“Raoul,” she said as he answered, confused at being woken up so late and tired. “Things have changed. I’m coming back to France.”

“Lotte? Are you serious?” he breathed on the other end. “Did he-?”

“It’s not what you think,” she told him, frowning. “It’s- complicated. We’ll be there tomorrow, I will explain it to you in person. It’s better to say it in person.”

“Tell me now,” he demanded. 

“Raoul...” 

“Tell me now, Christine, I want to know.”

“Erik is alive. There’s been a... a change in his diagnosis. My - our - situation has changed, too. Things are... different. We need to talk about it when I get back, okay?” she said softly. 

“We can talk now.”

“Don’t make me do this on the phone,” she pleaded. 

“No, I want to know.”

She could hear the tremble in his voice. He knew what was coming. She took a deep breath. 

“I’m in love with Erik.”

The words hung in the air between them, and he was silent. 

“I’m in love with him, and there’s- there’s a chance he can get treatment for his conditions,” she blinked hard, her voice welling with tears. “And he wants to get treated, and I want him to get treated, and we love each other, and I’m so, so sorry, Raoul. I really am.”

“We aren’t getting married, are we?”

“No,” she said mournfully, crushed to have to disappoint him but not willing to back down on this. “No, we’re not. I wanted to tell you in person - you deserved that much, at least, but- but it’s true. The doctor doesn’t know how long he could have - months, a year, more- and I can’t ask you to wait that long. I don’t want you to wait. It’s not fair to any of us.”

“That’s it, then? It’s just over between us? Just like that?”

“Well, I’ve been married to another man for almost three months, now.”

“You’re sleeping with him,” Raoul accused. 

She sat in silence on the very bed she shared nightly with Erik, not saying anything, but the silence on the other end stretched on and she realized he was expecting an answer. 

“We’re married,” she said in a trembling whisper. 

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me,” he moaned. 

“I didn’t plan to, Raoul. I really am sorry. Look, it’s late. I wanted to tell you in person. We can talk more when I get to Rouen, okay?”

“What more is there to talk about?” he asked sullenly. 

She paused. 

“We were engaged for five years, Raoul. Those kinds of things don’t just end with a three minute phone call in the middle of night.”

He sighed deeply. 

“Maybe you’ll see reason when you get back to France.”

She squeezed her hand on the phone. She almost left it at that, but couldn’t. 

“I already have seen reason, dear,” she said gently. “And it tells me that I love Erik, and that my destiny is linked to him to the very end of time.”

“And you don’t love me?”

A pause. 

“There’s many kinds of loves, Raoul.”

“But you love this Erik so much more than you love me, huh?” He sneered. 

She almost didn’t say it, but she did. 

“He loves me more than you love me.”

There was silence, then a click as Raoul hung up. She almost regretted what she’d said - she regretted that she’d hurt him - but the words had only been the truth. Erik was willing to die for her. Raoul wasn’t even willing to let her sing on a stage. 

She sighed as she hung up, suddenly exhausted by everything that happened. 

“Are you done with the phone?” Erik asked from the doorway, trying to look as though he hadn’t been spying on her. 

“Yeah,” she rubbed at her temples. 

“I’ll call the airport and see about tickets to France,” he said awkwardly, and went to the living room to call from there. 

She was still sitting on the edge of the bed when Erik returned a little while later. 

“We have a flight tomorrow morning,” he told her as he sat awkwardly on the bed. 

“Okay.”

She was always amazed at how quickly he could get things done. She supposed having vast quantities of money could do that for a person. 

“You don’t regret it, do you?” he asked her. 

She turned to him and hugged him. 

“I only regret that you didn’t tell me sooner,” she sniffled. “Let’s go to bed so we can get up early and not miss our flight.”

They got under the covers and turned out the lights, the ocean faint in background. 

“How did he take it?” he asked softly. 

“Very poorly.”

“Oh, Christine,” he sighed, pulling her close. “I’m so sorry. It can’t have been easy to have to break his heart for my sake.”

“I would break his heart like that every night for the rest of my life if it meant ensuring that you had one more day to spend with me each time I did it,” she told him firmly. “I love you, and nothing will get in the way of that.”

“It’s hard to imagine,” he murmured. “Getting everything you ever wanted. It’s even harder to imagine that it’ll stick around, once you have it.”

She cuddled closer to him, trying to forget about Raoul and the dread seeing him was causing in her. 

“I’m excited to go back to France,” she told him. 

“Oh?”

“We’ll get to live in your house together,” she smiled. “And we can use your recording studio together. We’ll get groceries, and vacuum, and do dishes, and go out to eat.”

She paused, then continued quietly. 

“If the treatment works, maybe... maybe we could start a family together.”

He looked at her, surprised. 

“You want that?”

“Maybe,” she said shyly. “I’m not sure yet. I want to sing. I can do both, can’t I?”

He hummed. 

“Raoul doesn’t want me to sing,” she added after a moment. “Not like how I want to sing.”

“I’ll make certain you can sing, Christine,” he said.

“I know,” she kissed his jaw. “Erik?”

“Hm?”

“I love you more than singing.”

“It’s easy to say that now,” he murmured. “You believe it now. But there might come a day-“

“Erik- I don’t know what would make me change my mind. I already know everything about you that could make me run, don’t I?”

He was quiet. 

“I’ve seen your face. I’ve seen your temper. I know- I think I know what you did in Italy. And I don’t care about any of it.”

“What do you think I did in Italy?”

“I think- well, you killed people,” she answered softly. “Erik, really, you think anything could ever compare to knowing that? If I still want you after knowing that, do you really think this is just some fleeting feeling?”

“Luci changed her mind, too,” he said after a while. “She thought she knew, but she didn’t.”

“I’m not her, Erik,” she said sadly. “I know it hurts you to think that I might- turn out like her, but- I don’t know how else to convince you. Luci couldn’t even handle your face. You hardly wear your mask around me anymore, and I barely notice. I want you to live as long as you can, I want to be with you, to have a family with you-“

She faltered, looking for the right words. 

“When you first proposed to me,” she started slowly. “I wasn’t sure. A woman marrying a practical stranger and going to a different country with him... I’m sure you can think of more than a few ways that could have ended very, very badly for me. But I knew that if it worked out- if it had at least a decent outcome, it would be fantastic. So I said yes. Knowing how vulnerable of a position I was putting myself into. And it didn’t just turn out decent - it turned out better beyond my wildest dreams.”

She took a tremulous breath. 

“So I am asking you, Erik, to put your faith in me, and to trust that if you take this leap of faith, that it could turn out better beyond your wildest dreams, too.”

He was quiet a long moment, then turned to kiss the crook of her neck. 

“I don’t know, my dear,” he breathed against her collarbone. “I have some pretty wild dreams.”

She giggled and wiped away the tear that had slid down her cheek. 

“I love you.”

“And you’ll love me no matter what?” he asked between kisses. 

“Of course.”

“Even if I bitch and moan all through treatment?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I’m a slob around the house?”

“Even then.”

“Even if I sleep in a coffin instead of a bed?”

She playfully shoved at him. 

“Erik! Get real.”

He gave a dark chuckle. 

They fell asleep in each other’s arms that night, Erik holding her tightly. 

They awoke early to get all their packing done, and they took one last look at the ocean. Soon enough, they were headed to the airport, and then, they were on their flight. 

They stared out the little airplane window as they left Portugal, watching its features get smaller and further away. They were both mostly quiet on the flight back. 

Erik had explained to her that doctor couldn’t give an exact timeline of how long the treatment might extend his life. He might only have three months left regardless - he might have less. No one could say. But if there was a chance, however small - she was holding on to hope, no matter how faint it was. 

They arrived on Erik’s doorstep, both feeling a little surreal. She’d thought for sure the next time she saw this door, Erik would be gone, and Erik hadn’t thought he’d ever see it again at all. 

She stood for a moment, forgetting she had the key. He gave her a crooked slime and gestured towards the lock. 

“Oh!”

She fished the key out of her pocket, fitted it in the lock, and pushed the door open, leading Erik into their lives together. 

“Welcome home, Mrs. Carrière,” he said sheepishly. 

“Welcome home, Erik,” she smiled, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. 

The remainder of the day was spent making a halfhearted attempt at unpacking and making phone calls. Erik made an appointment to see his doctor the following day to discuss further treatment details and get started. Christine called Meg and filled her in on the major happenings, ending with the promise that they would catch up fully in the near future. Sweet, supportive Meg - it nearly brought a tear to her eye how kindly and sincerely she wished Erik luck on his treatments. 

It only made it all the harder to call Raoul. She told him that they were back in France now, and that Erik had an appointment at her hospital at noon the following day. He said the bare minimum, and coldly. She told him that if he wanted to talk, she’d have a little time just before Erik’s appointment. He acknowledged this, and hung up. 

She wasn’t even sure if he’d show up or not. 

As they walked up to the looming hospital building the next day, Erik squeezed Christine’s hand. 

“I’m nervous,” he admitted. “But I’m excited too. Christine-“

He paused and turned to her, smiling. 

“I’m glad we came back.”

“I’m glad, too, Erik,” she squeezed his hand in return. 

Raoul was waiting around the corner. He shoved his hands into his pockets, frowning hard, trying to stay mad so he wouldn’t start crying. 

He couldn’t say it surprised him that Lotte had chosen this man over him - he had known from the very moment she’d told him she was considering marrying Erik that he was going to lose her to her him. No, he wasn’t surprised at all - but it still devastated him, all the same. 

Was he not enough? He tried so hard to be what she needed, he always had - and yet he fell short, apparently. He scrubbed a hand across his face as he waited for her, trying to call her names in his head so he wouldn’t hear names being called at him - lying Delilah, tease, fickle... These words covered up ones like inadequate, self-centered, loser - words he’d been called by his father on numerous occasions. 

How could he not have seen how much he was failing her? He _had_ failed her. If he had just been good enough, she would have stayed. 

Suddenly he saw them approaching. They hadn’t spotted him yet. His anger began to grow into real anger instead of just pretend distraction. He’d never seen Erik before. 

He was tall, dark but greying hair, and sure enough, a mask that covered nearly his entire face. Raoul clenched his fists just looking at this man who had taken his Lotte away from him - and then just as suddenly his hands went slack. 

They were talking and laughing, but over what, he wasn’t close enough to hear. They were holding hands, and smiling at each other with such joy, as though the other person was the best thing to ever happen. 

But what struck him the most was the absolute joy on Christine’s face, how her eyes were shining and her smile lit up when she looked at Erik. And Erik - how he stooped over her and fretted over how her jacket was hanging over her shoulder, how he looked at her with such utter love. This was a man who treasured her, who adored her. 

It pained him beyond words to realize, but it made sense now - her words to him in the middle of the night. He loved Christine, he’d thought he really did, but- 

But Christine had never looked at him the way she was looking at Erik. 

Maybe Erik knew how to love her in ways he just... couldn’t. 

It was an awkward thing to think, but looking at the two of them - they just seemed _right_ together. 

Christine spotted him and stopped, placing a hand on Erik’s chest. Erik glanced over at him, uncertain. 

Christine said something to him, and he nodded, about to head into the hospital. But first he leaned over and kissed her cheek, tilting her chin up with his hand before kissing her lips. Christine giggled and beamed up at him, and he only let go of her hand at the very last minute as he walked towards the main entrance. She watched him go, still smiling. Then her smile faded, and she glanced over at Raoul, taking a deep breath before she headed over to him. 

At last she was in front of him, and all of the accusations, the unkind words, the hurt feelings that had been swirling in his head, all the hurtful things he had been planning to say to her to ease his own aching soul all came to nothing. 

He felt like he hadn’t seen her in forever. She had a new handful of freckles across her nose and cheeks, probably from spending so much time on the beach. She was wearing lipstick. He’d never seen her wear lipstick before. 

“He makes you so happy,” was all he said. 

She deserved to be happy. 

She smiled and laughed a little, and he could see the sadness hidden behind both actions. 

“He does,” she said simply. “He really does.”

“I’ve never seen you so happy,” he breathed regretfully. 

Her brow knit, and she reached a hand out to rich his arm briefly. 

“We were happy, before. I was happy with you,” she told him. “I did love you, Raoul - I _do_ love you, just-“

“Just not the same way you love him,” he finished for her, and she nodded with a sad smile. 

He thought he was finally understanding what she had said about loving people in different ways. 

“Is he going to be okay?” he asked suddenly. 

“We aren’t sure,” she said softly. “But- there’s some hope, I think.”

“I hope so,” he said. “I hope so.”

“Um, Raoul,” she frowned and glanced away, shifting from foot to foot, needing to tell him what she should have told him long ago, what she should have told Erik when he first brought up the subject a few days ago. “I want you to know - I’ve given it a lot of thought, and- even if Erik doesn’t get better... Even after I’m widowed - I won’t be marrying you. I don’t think it would work out in the long run. So I want you to know up front - if we keep in touch - if you’d like to - it’s only as friends, okay? Nothing else. Not ever. Just friends.”

“Best friends?” he smiled hopefully. 

She smiled at him. 

“Yeah,” she said warmly. “I think that could work.”

It hurt to hear her say they could never work, but after seeing how she was with Erik, he was inclined to agree. All he had ever wanted was to look out for her and protect her, to keep her safe from the world. He could still do that as a friend, he supposed. He would have to. 

“I think I’ll always miss Christine Daaé,” he said softly. “But- I think I’d like to get know Christine Carrière.”

She smiled, her eyes tearing up. 

“I’d like that too,” she wiped at her eyes. 

“I know you’ll be wanting to spend as much time with him as you can,” he nodded towards the door Erik had gone through. “But if you have a chance, a little free time... I really do mean it. You still have my number.”

“Oh, Raoul-“ she hugged him tightly, and he returned the embrace. 

“I’ve got to go be with him,” she said when broke away. “But- we’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay. Go be with him.”

They parted with watery eyes and smiles, and she ran after Erik, hoping to catch up with him. 

She found him lingering in a hallway, and she hugged his arm when she caught up with him. 

He looked at her questioningly, and she beamed up at him. 

“Everything’s going to be okay,” she told him. 

They went in to see his doctor, who explained the risks and benefits, what all he would have to do and take and have done to him, the possible side effects and risks. Christine held his hand the whole time, asking questions here and there when Erik wasn’t certain what to ask. 

An hour later, papers had been signed and a treatment plan agreed to, and they shook the doctor’s hand as he smiled and congratulated them both. 

Erik and Christine found a restaurant to eat a celebratory lunch in. 

“He seemed like he really thought you could have a long time left,” she said eagerly as she took a bite of an appetizer. 

Erik scoffed. 

“And three moths ago he seemed like he really thought I’d only live six months.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“ _I_ think it sounds promising,” she insisted. 

“Well, yours is the only opinion I care about, my dear,” he smiled, raising his glass in a toast. 

His treatment started the next day. A cupful of pills in the morning, and in the evening they packed up for an overnight stay at the hospital. 

Christine watched from the chair in the corner of their hospital room with a wry smile as Sorelli prepped his arm for the IV needle that would be used for his overnight transfusion. 

When she was finished, Sorelli turned to Christine and raised an eyebrow as though to question her taste in men. Christine just shrugged and smiled. 

“It’s just like our first date,” Erik mused. 

She crinkled her nose. 

“Me doing me job was not a date, Erik.”

“Oh, it was to me, my dear,” he said, waggling a ginger at her. 

She snickered. 

“You making me repeatedly sweep up broken glass was not much a date, I’m afraid.”

“And look where we are now.”

“Right back in the same hospital. At least this time you didn’t break anything.”

“Yet!”

She shook her head mirthfully. 

“Come here,” he held his arms out to her. 

She came and hugged him, being mindful of the IV and the various wires and lines he was hooked up to. 

“I bet you can’t wait for a romantic dinner of ground meatloaf and mashed potatoes,” she teased. 

He groaned. 

“At least you have to suffer with me,” she sighed. 

They ate their dinner together, enjoying their shared suffering. 

“How do you feel?” she asked gently after their dinner was finished, tilting her head. 

He shrugged, trailing his fingers over the arm with the IV. 

“The tape itches. And it feels cold in my vein.”

She made a sympathetic noise. 

“But I suppose it’s not too bad. Are you sure you’re okay with sleeping in that chair?”

“I’ll be fine.”

He rolled over to face her more. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You can sleep here with me. There’s room.”

She was about to assure him it was fine when she realized what he was asking. He wanted her to be comfortable, but he also wanted her close to him. 

“Well-“

She glanced over at the closed door, biting her lip. 

“Okay.”

To his delight, she got on the hospital bed with him, the mattress crinkling under her, and pulled the sheet and blanket up to her shoulders. 

“There,” he breathed. “Isn’t that much better?”

“Oh, much,” she chuckled. 

She didn’t think anything else of it until Erik’s hands began to wander. She squirmed a little as he trailed his hand down her back and down to her thigh, pulling it closer to him. 

“Erik,” she said, giving him a stern look despite her smile. 

“What?” he asked innocently, positioning her leg over his hip. 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he defended even as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. 

“Oh? It feels like you’re-“

He cut her off with a passionate kiss. 

“Like I’m what?” he asked breathlessly as he pulled away. 

“We can’t,” she whispered, but didn’t resist as he gently maneuvered her to sit atop him. 

Her hands on either side of his head to help her keep her balance, he massaged his fingertips into her waist. 

“Can’t what?” he smirked. 

“ _Erik!_ ” her face went red. “I used to work here. Anyone could walk in on us.”

“On us doing what?” 

She leaned down to kiss him, unable to resist. 

“I’ll get fired.”

“You don’t even work here anymore.”

“You’ll rip out your IV.”

“You know how to put it back in.”

“If your heart monitor goes crazy, they’re gonna think you’re having a heart attack and they’ll come running in to check on you,” she raised an eyebrow. 

“That’s a risk I’m absolutely willing to take.”

She giggled and tried to look disapproving but couldn’t. 

“Erik...”

“What?”

“Keep an eye on the door,” she whispered as she leaned down, kissing his neck.


	20. Chapter 20

She knew she was biased because it was her own, but she really did think it had been the loveliest wedding she’d ever seen. 

She would never forget how it felt to stand in front of the altar and hold her love’s hands, the light pouring in through the stained glass, the organ music rising up to the vaulted ceiling of the cathedral. It had felt magical. 

It was magical even now, at the reception after the ceremony. Now that she no longer had to worry about money, it had been as easy as asking to rent the ballroom of the Opera Populaire for the wedding party. Not only was it a beautiful place, but it was very dear to her heart. 

“This is where he and I had our first date,” Christine told him wistfully, remembering that long ago night she and Erik had come to the opera. “A year ago today, actually.”

“That must have been very special,” Raoul said, smiling. 

“Oh, it was! I’ll never forget it.”

Just like she’d never forget this day, either. 

The musicians - her musicians, the ones who’d played on all of her tracks for all three of her albums - were playing a waltz, and Raoul looked so handsome in his tuxedo as they danced across the marble floor. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect wedding. It wasn’t vanity that she knew, also, how pretty she looked in her Victorian style wedding dress.

“It was a beautiful wedding,” Raoul said, as if reading her mind. 

“Wasn’t it?” Christine sighed as they whirled about the dance floor. “It was perfect. Better than I could have hoped.”

“And never was there a more beautiful bride,” he added. 

“Oh, Raoul-“

The waltz ended, a lull in the music. 

“Thank you,” she told him sincerely as they came to a stop, squeezing her hands on his arms. 

It meant so much to her that he was here with her now, after everything. 

“I think your husband is missing you,” he chuckled and nodded towards the table where Erik was sitting. 

Christine smiled and took her leave of Raoul, heading over to sit with Erik. 

It meant the world to her that Raoul had come to the wedding. Things had been awkward between them for a while after she first got back, but as the months went on and with a few heartfelt conversations, they’d become friends again, something she cherished. He’d been civil to Erik, too, and that made her happy. They’d never be friends or even warm to each other - there was too much hurt between them for that - but Raoul knew Erik made her happy, and he wanted that for her. 

Erik smiled at her as she approached. It never ceased to amaze him that this perfect angel loved him. Sometimes he could still scarcely believe it. 

When she’d first walked in his hospital room and took charge, he had immediately begun planning the fantasy of their life together, but he’d never expected it to be anything other than a fantasy, a thought in his head. But Christine had smiled at him, had held his hand, laughed with him - _looked_ at him, and she had done the one thing no one else in his life ever had. She had stayed. 

How he loved her - his little bride, perfectly imperfect, all of the sweetness and sadness inside her heart. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for this woman who felt like she was a piece of his very own soul. 

“How do you feel?” she asked kindly as she sat down next to him. 

After their first dance as husband and wife, he had picked her up and spun her around in the air, and then promptly had to sit down for a little while, leaving her to dance with other while he rested his strained back. 

“Better,” he said, caressing her with his eyes. 

“Good,” she nodded. 

“What about you? Are you okay?” he leaned in and whispered, and under the table he pressed a hand to the swell of her abdomen that was mostly hidden by the cut of her dress. 

She beamed at him, placing her hand overtop his. 

“Just fine,” she assured him. 

She was nearly six months into her pregnancy. They had waited a few months after returning to France before deciding on this, partly for her to focus on her music and partly to see how Erik’s treatment went. In that time, she’d recorded three albums with Erik’s help and direction, and his treatments seemed to be working as they’d hoped they would. He got fatigued on occasion, his hair was a little more grey than before, and he had a few more scars from recent surgeries, but he seemed to be showing very few signs of slowing down, and Christine saw no reason to assume that he would not be there to hold his son, Charles Gustave Carrière, in his arms after he was born. As always, Erik’s doctor could give no guarantees, but Christine held onto the hope that he could be there to witness many other moments together - baby Charles’s first steps, first word, first Christmas, first birthday, first music lesson, first day of school. She wanted that for all three of them. 

“Do you feel up to another dance?” she asked him. 

“Of course,” he stood and reached for her hands, pulling her out to dance floor, wincing only slightly. 

“Oh, I hope your back doesn’t hurt you too much,” Christine said, noticing his reaction. 

“In all marriages, sacrifices must be made,” he mused as the musicians started up another song. 

She giggled. 

“Erik! I mean it - you have to take it easy the rest of the day, okay?”

“I will gladly take it easy for the rest of day - I certainly wouldn’t want anything to get in the way our wedding _night_ , after all,” he said quietly with a smirk. 

She just smiled and shook her head. 

She was often struck at just how happy she was with Erik, happy in a way she’d never been before. She had tried, on occasion, to imagine her life with anyone else, but it just wasn’t the same. She couldn’t imagine feeling the kinds of things she felt for Erik for anyone else. It was only him, always him - she’d always been meant to find him, she thought. She’d always been meant to belong to him the same way he belonged to her - there were ways of belonging to someone that weren’t so bad after all, it seemed, like gently holding something valuable and precious in your open hands and caring for it instead of squeezing it and locking it away and guarding it and stifling it. She’d always been meant to fall in love with him, even when she hadn’t realized it, always been meant to go to Sweden with him and not Raoul. Always meant to be here with him now, in his caring arms as they danced under the chandelier of the opera house, as he leaned down to kiss her neck so he wouldn’t smudge the makeup on her face. 

She wouldn’t always have him, she knew that, but she had him right now, and to her, that was all that mattered. 

She closed her eyes as she swayed with Erik, warm in his embrace. After this dance, they’d eat some more cake, and then the fish that had been catered for dinner. They’d go around and make small talk with the rest of the guests - all the nurses Christine worked with, a few doctors she was close with, some of Raoul’s close friends, some people she knew from the music industry that she had met through Charles (people who now saw her married to a man they thought they didn’t know, a man named Erik) - it was a rather large wedding, all things considered. After the dinner and talking to guests and more dancing, they’d go home, both of them with aching feet. They would ignore that ache in favor of certain activities, and Christine planned to give him the wedding night of his dreams - provided his dreams made concession for his bad back and her current situation. They’d find a way to make it work. They always did. 

She had a show next week - she’d been invited to sing on a regular basis at several upscale restaurants, had been for some time now, and she loved doing so - so she knew Erik would want her to go over her song choices with him a few days before. She was working on a fourth album with Erik, too - a special re-issue of _Don Juan Triumphant_ with Erik reprising his role as Don Juan and Christine starring as Aminta. They’d probably be spending most of their time in the recording booth, like they usually did - she’d found it was one of her favorite places to be. She’d go in with Erik the week after next for his next treatment, another overnight transfusion. Music and medical appointments, such had been their life for the past nine months, and likely would be for the foreseeable future. 

She let the thoughts of what all they would and needed to do float through her head like a leaf on a stream. She would live in those moments when they arrived. For now, all she wanted was to live in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest thank you to everyone who read this story. Seeing all of your comments and kudos and even just the view count go up has been so great. I really appreciate all of my readers! Thanks again! <3
> 
> A large part of this was inspired by the 1945 movie, Voice of the Whistler, but the movie doesn’t end quite so happy as this story :)


End file.
